Room To Breathe
by I'm Twitch
Summary: With the escape a success, Michael begins to feel as if he's losing control. Unexpected events turn his world upside down as he struggles to keep his feelings in check, while doing everything he can to exonerate his brother.
1. Too Close

**Author's Note: **This is my first attempt at a fanfic of any kind. This chapter's kind of...short, but they get longer. Don't worry.

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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Police sirens wailed behind them, drawing closer by the second, furthering the group's determination to escape. Michael gave the illusion that he was keeping his cool, but it was just a facade to try to keep everyone else calm. Inside, his mind was racing, knowing that if he didn't come up with a genius plan, they'd be arrested or shot within five short minutes.

Meanwhile, a good three yards away, Lincoln's heart pounded against his chest, his lungs burning, trying to inhale all the oxygen they could. All that time in the shu was hell, and he was damned if he was going to go back without enjoying some relatively fresh air.

Not too far behind were Abruzzi, Sucre and C-Note, all quivering in fear as they ran through the tall grass. For some reason, at that very moment, the thought of T-Bag's severed hand crept into Sucre's mind, sending shivers up and down his spine, driving him faster.

The sirens were blazing, closer than Michael had hoped, and he was forced to resort to the only tactic he could think of; stealth.

"Follow me," he commanded through gritted teeth, just loud enough for Lincoln to hear, knowing that the others could either take a hint and follow, or be left in the open for a bust.

They had just entered the patch of woods, which turned out to be smaller than the inmates assumed. They were clear of the helicopter's spotlight for the time being, but that was quickly about to end.

They came to a small cliff, and Michael dove off without hesitation, free falling the ten-foot drop and landing with a roll. Lincoln landed right behind him, but it was C-Note and Sucre that took a little longer, having paused at the edge of the cliff before plunging off. Abruzzi's leap cleared the two minorities; he was determined to stay out of Fox River.

Lincoln was ahead of everyone, and stopped abruptly at the lake that lay before them. Michael rushed passed him and darted into the water, casually taking the two-foot fall, as if it were something he did daily. The other four followed, a feeling of dread in their stomachs. A lake was no place to be when you had that many cops hot on your trail.

Michael's next move horrified them even more as he swam straight into the cement drainage pipe.

"Son of a bitch," Sucre said in a panicked whisper, nonetheless following along anyway.

Things became more reassuring as Michael, always seeming to be following an intricate plan, sloshed through the now knee-deep water to another concrete tube that intersected with their current one, slanting downwards. He dropped to a sitting position and slid down the tube like a slide, followed by the others.

Landing with a thud in an even darker, clammier place, Michael quickly scrambled to his feet and broke into another run, glancing back only once to make sure everyone was okay and following him, despite his "every man for himself" speech.

Running behind him was Lincoln, looking around, trying to recognize his surroundings. It soon clicked that they were running through a typical underground sewer system. He was grateful that the slide had left them on the metal catwalk instead of dropping them into the murky sludge that lay below, almost looking like a fluorescent green river.

Their footsteps echoed throughout the complex, and Michael knew he had only bought a sliver of time. He desperately needed to figure out what to do next; letting his brother get caught and executed wasn't an option anymore.

He did the only thing he could think of now, which was to keep running through the maze of tunnels. His legs were fine, but it was the cramp that pierced his side that caused him to slow to a quickened jog. Everyone else seemed rather thankful for the change of pace, although deep down, they all knew that it wasn't a good thing. The slower they moved, the faster the police could catch up to them.

Their adrenaline was running low, their fear skyrocketing. It was a combination that no one wanted, but one that nobody could seem to stop. Capture seemed inevitable to everyone except Michael, who still managed to look as calm as it was humanly possible, considering the situation they were faced with.

He looked back at everyone for a minute.

"You guys ready?" He asked with a smile and a wink, darting up a ladder just as the shouts of police officers echoed down the next corridor.

Lincoln followed Michael, with Sucre and Abruzzi on his heels, and C-Note bringing up the rear. Then the four of them heard what they dreaded the most; Captain Brad Bellick.

"Freeze, con!" He bellowed, following his shout with a deafening shotgun blast that rang throughout the sewer.


	2. Going The Distance

**Author's Note: **This is my first attempt at a fanfic of any kind. This chapter's kind of...short, but they get longer. Don't worry. 

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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Sucre had glanced down just in time to see C-Note's chest be ripped open by the slug, sending him slamming into the ladder before toppling backwards onto the catwalk. For a moment, he froze in terror, and then realized he would be next in line.

The top of the ladder placed the four remaining men inside another concrete tunnel, longer than the first. With hunched backs, they all ran through the pipe, keeping their heads low to avoid knocking it on the cement, splashing in the murky puddles.

The putrid stench finally faded into a welcoming breeze of cold air, and the return of wailing sirens, farther away than when they'd ducked into the first tunnel. They burst through the opening and found themselves in an algae-covered ditch, the banks a good six feet high, slanting upwards.

Michael was in the lead, his eyes darting in every direction, searching frantically for his next move. Sucre was indeed his friend, but he couldn't risk his own life, and more importantly, his brother's, for anything. He knew Bellick would be emerging from the pipe in about a minute, so acting fast was mandatory, as usual. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember his contingency plan. It had worked so far, minus the unfortunate incident with C-Note, but there was nothing he could do about that now. Yet another death rested on Michael's shoulders because of his determination to clear his brother's name.

His eyes scanned the area, finally seeing a bush that triggered his memory.

He ran over to it and rummaged inside, pulling out a small black garbage bag. He tore it open and pulled out a small .38 caliber pistol, seriously regretting what had to be done now.

"Abruzzi, come here," he said, no longer needing to shout, the helicopter having lost their trail. He breathed in a deep breath and released it slowly, handing the gun to the ex-mob boss. "There's one shot in there. We need to hide on either side of that pipe, and wait for Bellick to come out, and then you need to…" His voice trailed off as he shut his eyes momentarily. "Make it count," he said flatly, as he directed Sucre to wait with Abruzzi on one side, while he took Lincoln to the other. They had barely made their cover when they heard the man's footsteps pounding on the cement, his breath coming in short, rugged gasps, the beam of his flashlight dancing around.

Abruzzi grasped the pistol and held it close to his chest, anticipating Bellick's appearance. When he finally rushed out of the pipe, Abruzzi was grateful that he had run a good six or seven feet out. He aimed the gun carefully before taking a step forward.

The algae-covered leaves made a sickening squish, and Bellick whirled around just as Abruzzi fired a shot right under the Officer's left eye.

Bellick's legs crumbled beneath him as he fell backwards, his weight making an even more disgusting sound as he fell on the moist ground. Abruzzi held the barrel of the pistol to his nose, inhaling the smoke, letting a smile cross his face.

Sucre's eyes were wide with horror, with a slight hint of excitement as Michael and Lincoln came into view.

"Wipe the gun, get rid of it," Michael said flatly, obviously feeling remorse would what had just happened. After all, it _was _his fault. He stepped over to the Captain's body and removed his .9-millimeter, his handcuffs, and police radio. Nothing else was of value. Abruzzi leaned down, reaching for the shotgun, but he found Michael's newly acquired piece aimed at him. "Leave it, John," he said coldly, not wanting any confrontation. Abruzzi backed away and held his hands up defensively.

"Alright, Fish, your call," he said, a little too politely for Michael's liking.

He walked back to the bush and pulled out five backpacks, handing one to each of the men, keeping two for more himself.

"Westmoreland's," he muttered to himself as he stuffed the scanner and cuffs into his pack, followed by Westmoreland's, which he had to fold up to make it fit. The others were peering inside of their sacks, humored looks on their faces.

"How'd you do all of this, Scofield?" Sucre asked with a mischievous grin.

"I had to have a contingency plan, in case I couldn't get Abruzzi to cooperate." His tone was a dull, almost monotone sound as a myriad of thoughts raced through his mind. Shaking them free, he pulled himself together.

"It looked like he was the only one close to us, on foot. We should have a little more breathing room now. A chopper will probably be around soon, checking for a sign of him. We need to get him into that pipe, and then get out of here. We're almost ten miles away from Fox River now, but that's not far enough. In about three hours, we should be safe, if we keep up a decent pace. Let's do this."

They all lifted up a different part of Bellick's body, and scooted over, setting him down a little ways inside the pipe. Michael went back and retrieved the shotgun, placing it on the Officer's chest, casting another glance at Abruzzi, a warning to leave it alone.

Michael had got his point across, because everyone slung their backpacks over their shoulders and starting jogging through the night, knowing that time was the most precious thing they could hope to have right now.

The ground squished under their feet, and it would've been enough to turn a stomach if they hadn't been breathing so hard. Michael had guessed that their attempts at throwing off the K-9 dogs had worked; he couldn't hear any barking or shouting, only crickets and owls in the night.

Twenty minutes into their run, everyone was beyond winded, and Michael decided it was time to change.

"Alright," he said to everyone when they had stopped, all of them leaning their back against the slanted ditch. "We need to get out of these clothes. We're far enough, dogs can't follow our scent, and our new clothes smell like a thrift store." They all started to strip out of their clothes, to the bare minimums, and then redressed with the garments in their bags. "Keep the other outfit," Michael said, almost as an afterthought.

All of them were clad in either faded dark jeans or slacks, and assorted short sleeves worn under their new long sleeves, except for Lincoln, who had them reversed. They all sported caps with names of places none of them had heard of, but it was alright. Now they looked like normal, lower class people.

Michael shrugged back into his backpack and clapped his hands together. "Let's go, we're losing nighttime." Just like that, they were back to a brisk jog through the muddy ditch.


	3. Refuge

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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In a forty-five minute period, they had slowed to fast walking, but were still making good distance. Michael could see what he needed to not too far ahead. They were relying on the eerie moonlight for guidance, not wanting to have their flashlight beams dancing around in the darkness; stealth was of utmost importance.

In the right side of the ditch was another large drainage pipe with a sheet of plywood leaned up against it, just as he had left it. Next to it sat a wooden trough with a shovel, a bag of quick-drying cement, and two five-gallon buckets of water. Michael grabbed the trough and, kicking the plywood over, slid it inside the pipe. He tore the top of the cement bag and poured it, instructing Lincoln to pour the water.

It was a good thing there was ten gallons, because a good amount had inevitably evaporated since Michael's last visit, leaving them with just enough to mix the cement.

"Everyone in," he said, picking up the plywood. They shuffled in and Sucre looked back at him, and then displayed a huge grin of approval. "Get out your light, turn it on. " Michael smiled back before climbing into the hole, bringing the wood with him. He held it against the hole, while Sucre lit up the tunnel, letting Lincoln shovel the cement mixture around the edges. "Alright, now take the handle off to get the sides and top," Michael instructed. Lincoln did as he was told, and in no time at all, he had every hole packed with concrete.

"You're a genius, Mike," he said with a laugh, shaking his head. Michael just nodded solemnly.

"This probably isn't going to buy us too much time. The cops will notice the new cement and smash it in. However, it was the only idea I could come up with while I was planning this aspect out. I didn't exactly have all the time in the world," he added, throwing a wink at his brother, who tried giving him a menacing glance that turned into a smile anyway.

"So what, Fish? We gonna sit around and talk all night, or are we gonna keep moving?" Abruzzi was still bitter.

Michael narrowed his gaze at him as he stood up. "Let's go."

Sucre chimed in. "Where are we going, Scofield?"

"Don't worry about it. Hand me your flashlight." Sucre did as he was told, and followed Michael down the tunnel. With the aide of their new light, it made bumping into things, and each other, more of a rare occurrence than earlier.

Ten minutes had passed, and they were still walking briskly, deep into the tunnel, everyone's legs screaming with protest at the abuse. The beam of light danced on something that reflected it, causing everyone to freeze.

"I put that stuff there," Michael said, putting emphasis on the "I", sounding amused at what the others thought was a close encounter. When they got closer, they discovered five junky looking BMX bikes leaned against the side of the pipe. "Gentlemen, I give you your transportation." He swept his arm out in front of him, gesturing to the less-than-adequate bicycles.

"You gotta be kidding me, Fish," Abruzzi said.

"That's fine, John. You can stick to walking." Michael smiled with his comment before pocketing Sucre's flashlight and grabbing one of the bikes and pushing it to the edge of the tunnel, where he set it down on the catwalk similar to the last, about two feet below him. Picking the bike up, he placed it over the rail and let it slide into the muck below, which seemed to engulf the rusted aluminum frame. "Much better." When he turned around, Lincoln was handing him his own, which he gratefully accepted as he mounted it, waiting for the others. When everyone was set, he grabbed the light again, turning it on, and took off pedaling to the right. He kept a close eye on how many "exits" they passed, and which ways they turned, snaking through the seemingly endless sewer. Sometimes they'd ride straight ahead for a good while before turning, other times they zigzagged frequently. None of them said anything, and with good reason. The farther they got from the authorities, the more their adrenaline depleted, and the more tired they got. Judging by their schedule in Fox River, and his watch reading four thirty, they had been awake close to twenty-four hours.

Nonetheless, everyone seemed thankful for the transportation, even if it continued to make their calves and backs ache.

They eventually arrived in a circular room with three other pipes leading away. Michael stopped in the middle of the room, dismounted his bike and laid it down, the rest of them doing the same. Sucre breathed a sigh of relief as he took off his pack and sprawled himself out on the ground.

"Don't get too comfortable," Michael said, reaching in his pack and pulling out a small radio, which he turned on and set down in the middle of them. He found a news broadcast, and the gang listened intently.

_"…the escaped convicts are believed to be heading to Mexico, and are anticipated to already be out of Illinois, possibly in Iowa or Missouri. All airstrips in the area have been closed down, and are expected to be reopened by noon tomorrow. If you have any information on these criminals, contact your local authorities. Do _not _confront them. The suspects are considered armed and highly dangerous. And now Frank has your weather update…"_

A grin played at Michael's lips, causing the other men to stare at him in disbelief.

"What's so funny, Scofield?" Abruzzi asked. "There's a huge manhunt out for us, and you're grinning like an idiot."

"They think we've left Illinois." The smile stayed.

"You mean we haven't?" Sucre chimed in.

"Nope."

"We ran around like that and we haven't left the state!" He was getting worried now.

"Calm down, Sucre. We haven't left Illinois, because it's what they expect us to do. We _are_ pretty far away from Fox River, but the manhunt is even farther from us."

It was Lincoln's turn to smile. "Mike…" He said, letting his lone word of praise linger between them before Abruzzi cut in again.

"So, what? We're gonna hide in some sewer hole?"

Michael glared at him again, his smile gone. "No. We stopped so I could see where the cops were looking, to see if the streets were safe."

"The streets? Are you crazy, Fish?"

"You're welcome to sleep in some sewer hole, if that would accommodate you better." Once again, Michael's smile returned, this time smaller. He put the radio in his pack and picked up his bike, glancing through the grated catwalk at the disgusting mixture lying below them before proceeding to the concrete pipe that was to the left of the corridor they'd exited.

Once everyone was in the pipe, they could see moonlight coming from the end, making them nervous. They were back to walking in a puddle of grime, but it didn't seem to bother them as they headed out. The drop from the pipe was only about a foot, and most of the gunk at the bottom of the waste-pile was on the dryer side, just squishy like the algae from earlier. Farther out, it turned into a long riverside, sparkling against the moonlight. Michael dropped down and turned, walking up the inclined bank, next to the pipe. Everyone else followed, until they were all standing in a back alley that ran behind all of the buildings.

"Follow me," Michael said in a hushed whisper, not wanting his voice to carry. He got back on his bike and rode two blocks down, darting especially fast across intersecting alleys, not wanting to be seen from the street. They arrived at a two-story building with boarded up windows, the plywood sporting graffiti tags from the neighborhood kids. He dismounted again and climbed the steps, telling everyone else to get off their bikes. Taped under the wooden handrail was a key, which Michael produced and used to unlock the door, flicking a light switch just inside. "Everyone in."

They shuffled in with their bikes as Michael shut the door and locked it back.

"Lean your bikes somewhere," he said, grabbing Sucre's flashlight off the kitchen counter and turning it on as he shut off the overhead light.

"Why'd you do that, Fish?" It was Abruzzi again. Michael ignored that comment. Instead, he proceeded through the kitchen, opening a door that led downstairs to what turned out to be a cellar. What they saw on the floor would disgust the normal person, but the cons seemed overjoyed at the sight of those five filthy mattresses, each equipped with an equally filthy pillow.

"This is going to be 'home' for a while," Michael said, stepping between beds to stand in a separate storage room, where nothing was stored except a folding metal chair and a small wooden table. He pulled the seat out and sat down, and was followed into the room by Sucre, who propped himself up against the edge of the table, his hands resting palms-down on the surface.

"Look, Fish, since no one else is gonna, I gotta say it, _hombre_. We all owe you big time. For the escape, for your plans, we'd still be rotting in Fox River if it wasn't for you."

Michael held his gaze but said nothing.

"I guess I just wanted to thank you, and let you know I'm glad I was your cellmate." That comment drew a laugh from Michael, a laugh that he and his friend shared comfortably before he exited.

Back alone in the small room, he laid his head back against the cement wall and closed his eyes, letting his mind be overrun by all of the other thoughts that he had fought so desperately to push away earlier. One thought came often, and lingered longer.

Sara.

He had to find her, had to see how she was. It was out of the question now; he'd have to wait until the heat from the police died down. The wait would kill him almost as much as breaking her heart and shattering her trust, but he had to do it. Otherwise, he could risk compromising the whole crew, who were now still depending on him, even after the escape.

He felt a presence at the doorway and knew no one would be quiet like that except his brother. "What do you need, Linc?"

"I need you to get some sleep, Mike. Don't worry, I'll keep watch."

"I'll stay up with him." It was Sucre again. Michael glanced from one set of eyes to the other, and then back again, holding their gaze. He finally sighed and gave in, standing up and entering the main room where Abruzzi had already made himself at home, his head just hitting the pillow.

"We're awake in two hours, John. Then Lincoln and Sucre can get a couple hours of sleep."

Abruzzi mumbled something Michael assumed was a reluctant agreement, and his breathing almost immediately turned steady, the ex-mob boss being fast asleep. He slid out of his shoes and laid his head on one of the remaining pillows, falling fast asleep as one thought entered his mind again.

Sara.


	4. Lookout

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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Lincoln and Sucre managed to find an identical folding chair, and sat at the table playing various card games, keeping their voices low so they wouldn't disturb Michael. If he was going to get them in the clear, he needed his sleep, even if it was only a couple of hours.

"I need to talk to Veronica and LJ," Lincoln said, tossing his cards in the middle as a fold.

"I know what you mean, man. I have to see Maricruz." The two men shared a silence, both knowing how the other felt.

Blackjack got boring, leaving them sitting in the quiet room, each occupied with their own thoughts about their respective families and assorted loved ones. They were jerked out of their trances when a loud, high-pitched beeping erupted from what turned out to be Michael's watch.

When Sucre's heart rate settled back down a second later, he spoke. "I guess he didn't want us letting him oversleep."

Lincoln laughed a little as his brother entered the room, looking like he was completely refreshed. Lincoln guessed that his brother had gotten used to scarce amounts of sleep and felt sorry for him.

"Get some sleep. We've still got about thirty hours before the airports are reopened." He turned his attention to John, who was groggily rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "We're going to need transportation, even if it's a helicopter. Can you get something?" Abruzzi nodded semi-coherently. "I have a call to make. Excuse me." With that, he exited, stepping between beds and climbing the stairs, shutting the door behind him. The other three stared after him, hoping he would come back down. He'd be crazy to go outside at seven in the morning.

Less than a minute later, Michael returned, giving the others a slight nod as he brushed past them, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

Lincoln and Sucre knew that asking questions would result in nothing other than a waste of breath, so they headed to their beds, grateful for the small amount of sleep they were getting. Abruzzi joined Michael in what was now referred to as the office, taking his seat and thoughtlessly shuffling the cards. He finally spoke.

"Who'd you call, Fish?"

"I had to put phase two of the plan into motion."

"Who'd you call?" This was the most patience Michael had ever witnessed by Abruzzi.

Michael didn't respond to it, though. Instead, he produced a cell phone from his pocket and slid it across the table. "Call your people, John. Set up our getaway, and keep it short."

"The phones aren't tapped, Scofield, my people know better."

"Good." Michael watched him make the call, and saw the frustration build on his face as he questioned why the plane took off without them the previous night. He disconnected the call and slammed the phone down.

"I can't believe this."

Michael waited.

"You know why they left? Because air traffic control told them to. They've killed people for a lot less, Fish. Yet, they let some unarmed airport security cop equivalents boss 'em around. This is unbelievable."

"Are we good?"

"Yeah. They'll be here. I have to call them later, let them know where to pick us up."

"Good."

"Well?"

Michael stared at him.

"Where are they picking us up?"

"I'll tell you when you need to know. This is everything on a need-to-know basis."

Abruzzi's gaze was menacing. "I want Fibonacci."

"When we land safely. Go back to sleep if you want."

"There a bathroom around here, Fish?"

"Upstairs. Be quiet. Don't go outside."

"Yeah, no kidding." He stood up and left, and Michael was once again alone in the office. He used the alone time to grab the radio again, and put it on the news broadcast again, checking to see if there was any new information.

_"…but the doctors are unsure as to whether Dr. Sara Tancredi, the now Vice President's daughter, will recover from her morphine overdose. Authorities are now looking at her as a suspect in helping the Fox River convicts escape last night. We'll have more of these stories as updates become available."_

Michael switched off the radio as commercials came on, letting his heart run the ultimate guilt trip on his mind. He now blamed himself even more, accusing himself of making Sara drive that needle into her arm. He had to see her, and he had to do it before they left tomorrow. Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he sat and began to formulate a plan to get to her. If he could disguise himself a little more, there was a chance he'd be able to get to the hospital to see her. Standing up, he headed back upstairs and met Abruzzi in the kitchen. "Looking for a phone book," he said, and walked by, not wanting questions to be asked.

He located one in the front closet of the living room and flipped through the blue pages, finding the number of the hospital. He punched the number in the phone and waited, being greeted by the less-than-cheerful receptionist.

"I need to know what room number Sara Tancredi is in."

Michael heard papers shuffle, along with exasperated breaths from the woman. "642."

"Thank you." He hung up and went back to the office, relieved that he eliminated an unwanted confrontation for when he arrived at the hospital. He just had to figure out how to sneak to the sixth floor, and into her room, see how she was doing.

In an attempt to further develop his plan, he sat at the kitchen table, which looked as rickety as the house, and began scanning the depths of his mind for ideas. The contingency plan he had was almost done, and it was time for a new one, another new scheme he had to think up.

Rising from the table, he decided to move the bicycles into the empty back bedroom for two reasons. The first one being space on the main floor, which is where he anticipated they'd stay at while daylight shone through the cracks. The second reason being he didn't want the bikes to be discovered by anyone who happened to enter the house. Although the chances of that happening were quiet slim, there was still a chance, and it was one Michael wasn't willing to take, not after his countless hours of planning and preparation.

His to-do list became overwhelming as he used his fingers to tick off all of the things he still had to do before this ordeal would be over. Moreover, with the way he anticipated it, this ordeal would end with him going back to Fox River, possibly with his brother, and finishing his sentence, counting whatever was added on for the escape. One of the most important things would be to clear Lincoln's name of murder, followed by seeing Sara.

A small smile played at the corners of Michael's mouth as he thought about Fox River. His re-incarceration would be an ideal time that he could see Sara again, if she even continued to work there after the escape and her overdose of morphine.

His smile quickly faded as he thought of her in a hospital bed, tubes running to her, being connected to all kinds of machines. She didn't deserve that. His behavior repulsed him, taking advantage of someone so…genuine. The situation seemed so blunt at face value, but in reality, the fragility of everything, of Sara, was outrageous. He had never dreamed of getting her involved in his plan, she wasn't supposed to be so human. Nothing was going to change the fact that he hurt her, but he was going to do everything in his power to ensure that he changed how she felt about it. Most of what she'd seen in him in prison was the real Michael Scofield, but she wouldn't know it. She wouldn't be able to distinguish truth from lies, compassion from trickery. But he realized that he was going to end up back in Fox River. His impenetrable reputation he once carried would be forever tarnished, there would be no Michael left. Only Scofield. The prisoner, convict, inmate, felon. He would be left with nothing to offer someone like Sara, reputable prison doctor, even he did manage to earn her forgiveness.

Michael absentmindedly glanced at his watch, noting that time had whizzed past him while he was thinking. Three hours had passed since he woke up, and he used almost all of it to think about Sara, and the future he'd never have with her. He wished he could change it, but he had already made a vow to sacrifice anything to clear his brother's name, even if it was his own life. It wasn't fair to make Sara suffer like this, but he was out of options. Once he saw her, he'd make sure she was okay, and eventually try to explain everything.

"You look like hell, Mike." Glancing up from the table, he saw Lincoln standing at the top of the stairs. He seemed to ponder what his brother had said.

"Well. I think this is a pretty good simulation of hell, Linc." Lincoln just laughed as he headed to the sink, testing to see if the place had running water. Sure enough, it did. He cupped his hands under the cool water and let it flow between his lips, satisfying his parched throat. After his drink, he used his hands to massage the water onto his face, refreshing him down to the bone before shutting it off and wiping his hands and face on his shirttail.

Sucre emerged from the cellar shortly after, partially looking better, except for the stress lines that seemed etched into his tan complexion, making him look a good ten years older than he was. Between Fox River and their stunning escape, life was definitely taking its toll on all of them.

Sucre stretched and rubbed his eyes, but froze in terror when there was a knock on the back door. He and Lincoln almost automatically darted out of the kitchen, back down the stairs, moving with the speed of a gazelle, and the grace of a swan.

Michael slowly slid his chair back and stood, making his way to the door. Tremors shot through his body as he reached a shaking hand towards the deadbolt, letting it click out of place, then slowly opening the door. His heart skipped a beat when he saw who was standing on the other side, a sincere smile on her face.

Nika.


	5. Journey

**Author's Note: **Hope everyone likes this Chapter, let me know. :) 

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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Michael's heart had climbed into his throat and constricted his air pipe at the sight of his wife. He must've had the strangest look on his face, because her smile turned into an expression of concern.

"Are you alright, Michael?"

He had to force himself to take a breath of air to fill his frozen lungs. Regaining his composure, he ushered her inside and peered out of the door before shutting it, allowing himself an extra moment to gather himself.

Hearing the door shut again, Lincoln and Sucre cautiously opened the cellar door and entered the kitchen, both of them stopping in their tracks when they saw Nika.

The silence was an eerie one, everyone's eyes glued on the now-American citizen.

"Well, this isn't awkward at all," she said, following it up with nervous laughter. Michael grinned at her sense of humor. He'd always liked that about her. Suddenly remembering that they weren't in prison, Lincoln and Sucre both extended their hands to Nika, apologizing for the moment. "It's okay." Her smile was back, and although it was a small one, anyone who saw it knew it was genuine and sincere.

Lincoln and Sucre could sense that Michael and his wife should be alone and excused themselves, deciding to give themselves a tour of the rundown shack.

Nika set her shoulder bag on the table. "How are you, Michael?"

"I'm getting by, thank you. Yourself?"

"I'm doing great. I've got a wonderful job."

Michael smiled. "I'm glad." He meant it.

Nika reached into her bag and pulled out four boxes of hair dye, a selection of stylish sunglasses, and a wad of bills. "It's everything you asked for." Her smile was still there, but behind her eyes was a look of pain, originating from somewhere deep inside her heart. "I've filed the divorce papers. Goodbye, Michael."

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a comforting embrace. He could smell her peach and lavender scent, tickling his nostrils as he held her. When the hug broke, he placed a single kiss of the top of her head, and she picked up her bag and left.

"Goodbye, Nika." Michael's feet were planted as he stared at the door, letting the cool air from outside sweep around him.

Sucre and Lincoln returned, watching Michael for a moment.

"What was that about, Mike?"

"She came to bring us supplies." He gestured to the hair dye and glasses, sweeping up the money and pocketing it. "Don't tell Abruzzi about that." His voice was lower, and he knew neither of the other two liked John very much. He stripped out of his shirt and grabbed a box of blonde dye. "I need to go out. Put this in."

Sucre dropped his gaze to the floor and scratched the back of his head, surprisingly half-ashamed that he didn't have the slightest idea how to dye hair.

"What could be so damned important that you have to go out half a day after escaping from a federal prison, Mike? You can get caught, and when you do, they're going to torture the hell out of you until you give us up. Nothing is worth that bounty."

Michael didn't say anything, just stood his ground and held Lincoln's flaming gaze.

"It's that doctor, isn't it? The one from Fox River." It turned from a question into more a statement. "Damn it, Michael."

Michael's eyes stayed locked, his gaze unwavering. Sucre had moved back several steps, making sure he was staying out of this particular family affair. Lincoln gave in and mixed the dye, applying it to his brother's close-shaven head.

"Rinse it in thirty minutes." With that, he exited the room, going somewhere in the back of the house. Sucre carefully approached his former cellmate, careful not to get too close.

"She's really something, isn't she?"

Michael said nothing, nor did he glance up from whatever imaginary thing on the wall that he had been staring at since he sat down. Sucre inched closer and put his hand on Michael's shoulder.

"I know how it feels, hombre. Just be careful out there."

He finally looked up, slowly, and noticed that Sucre was equipped with a hardened gaze of his own, one that held many secrets and fears. The thought that he wasn't the only one driving himself crazy was comforting, but it wasn't something he wanted to think about. He was supposed to remain cool, calm, and collected, that was his job. The straight thinker, the one who never panicked and buckled under pressure. But with every minute that passed, he felt his sanity slowly slipping away, sliding through his fingers as he grasped at straws. His very existence was caving in all around him, and it was going to leave him as not even half the man that he once was, the man with his life of track, his well-paying career, his well-furnished apartment, his well-adjusted life. He now realized that there was only a slim chance he'd ever have any of it back. Sure, he'd adjust to whatever new life he was left when the smoke had cleared, but it wouldn't be the same one. He was living without Sara when he hadn't known her, and he doomed to continue living without her now that he'd messed everything up. In an attempt not to lose it, he pushed the chair back and stood, making his way to the back bedroom after he thanked Sucre.

Lincoln was standing with his hand on the wall, facing a sheet of plywood as if he could see through it and was actually looking out of the window. Michael walked to the left side of the room and carefully opened the closet doors, pulling out a pair of khaki pants and an oversized snow jacket. Lincoln glanced at him shortly, then returned his gaze to the dust-covered plywood.

"Linc…I have to do this."

Lincoln said nothing. Michael felt he owed his brother, of all people, an explanation, so he gave the only one he had.

"What would you do if Veronica was in a coma, Linc? You'd sacrifice everything to see her one last time, and you know it."

Lincoln stayed quiet, but his body tensed at his brother's words, his anger building. He knew Michael had a point, he'd sacrifice anything if it was Veronica, but it wasn't. It was a prison doctor that Michael had met as an inmate, doesn't know too much about, and hasn't known for too long. It seemed ridiculous, but Lincoln's anger was forcing him not to say anything, forming a lump in his throat.

"You'll see LJ and Veronica, Linc. I promise." He turned to exit, his clothes draped over his arm.

"Mike…"

He turned around, watching his brother intently.

"Be careful."

Michael just smiled. "You bet, Linc." He turned on his heel and began to leave again, but stutter-stepped at the doorway. "You and Sucre can break the news to Abruzzi that he has to dye his hair and shave his beard."

Lincoln turned around and eyed his brother's back, his anger fleeing as he watched him make his way through the house.

Michael had went back to the kitchen, noticing Sucre was still there, and rinsed his head in the deep sink before heading to the bathroom to change into his new outfit, which he hoped would make him look heavier than he actually was. Putting on a pair of mirrored sunglasses and his ball cap, he went back to the bedroom and got his bike as he slipped out of the door, pedaling down the back alley.

He had to struggle a bit to remember the exact route he needed to take to reach the hospital, but he made it by on instinct. He was careful to keep his head low to avoid eye contact with anyone once he made it on the main street, but high enough so he wouldn't get plowed over by a car. The streets were busy, as he suspected and it was a double edged sword. With everyone bustling about, he could blend and merge with everyone, but with the crowded amount of people, there was a greater chance of him being recognized. And then he saw it.

Looming ahead was the towering tan hospital, the placed that housed the woman that graced his dreams and haunted his nightmares. He was at the intersection with a "Do Not Cross" light, so he used that time to scan what he could see of the facility. He could see into the window of the main lobby, which was packed almost to capacity with people, their little aches and pains adding further difficulty to his plan. His eyes darted back and forth, and he noticed a service entrance on the side. It would have to do. All he had to do was hope that he could avoid confrontation with anyone on his way up, a task that would probably prove more difficult than he wished.

He carefully breezed across the road, pedaling down the sidewalk until he was almost at the entrance and darted between a gap in the bushes, leaning his bike against the wall of the hospital.

Inhaling a deep breath of the cold air, he reached for the handle, hoping it wasn't really an emergency exit. Setting off an alarm was something he really didn't need right now. Once the door opened without incident, he finally released the breath he'd been holding in a whoosh of air, stepping inside and quietly shutting the door.

To his immediate right were stairs, which looked a lot more appealing than venturing down an unknown hallway. The area seemed deserted, which only made his footsteps echo even more as he carefully climbed the cement stairs, keeping to side to avoid the creaking which was impossible on these steps. His mind seemed almost washed of most coherent thoughts, all that was in his brain were images of Sara, past, present, and future. Some of the visions were so graphic that they burned his heart, as if someone was outing cigarette upon cigarette onto his blood-pumping organ. His heart ached at the thought of hurting her, along with his soul. He counted each hallway that he passed on the way up, until he finally reached the sixth floor, where he paused once again to steady himself and regain his composure. For that moment, he was thankful for the stubble that was growing on his face, further aiding in his disguise, partially covering some of his distinct features.

Releasing his held in breath, he made his way down the clammy looking hallway to the door that awaited him at the end, the door which would determine his fate. He prepped himself to look casual, but not too slouchy like a tramp, and not too stiff like a person hiding something. When he reached the closest that he would get to his goal, he pushed open the door, the fluorescent lights piercing his vision, causing him to momentarily wince at the change in brightness. Glancing to the left and right, he saw that people were scarce, and no one was looking at him. He seized the opportunity and stepped into the corridor, following his way down, letting the room numbers guide him. He found 642 without incident, and peered into the window of the unit, and his heart shattered all over again.

Sara was lying in the bed, IV's piercing her skin, other assorted tubes running only God knows where. Breaking his gaze from the horrible sight in front of him, he stole a moment to glance at the clipboard sitting in the holder on her door.

The paper in front of him said she was in a coma. There was no way he could recover from this massive guilt trip, even under the best of circumstances. Turning the handle with his shaking hands, he eased open the door and slid inside, shutting it quietly, and made his way to her bedside. Her skin was a ghostly pale, her hair matted to the pillow by immense amounts of sweat, her breathing shallow and peaceful.

Her pale lips were parted slightly, and all the memories of the first time he kissed those lips came rushing back to him, making his legs feel like two long, rubber erasers. He carefully pulled over a padded wooden chair, afraid that if he didn't, he might fall on her. He clasped one of her hot, clammy hands in both of his and placed a kiss on the top of it before resting it back on the bed, never letting go. He almost choked trying to fight back the tears that threatened to form behind his eyes, and he had to take a minute to blink them all away.

"Sara…" His choked voice was barely a whisper, but it was all he could manage. His mind was flooded with so many things that he could say, that he should say, but he couldn't, not when she couldn't hear him. He felt like he was talking to a dead loved one, someone who had passed before he got a chance to say goodbye, and a single tear rolled down his hot cheek. Pulling all of his remaining strength, he whispered once more. "I'm sorry, Sara. Just…wait for me."

He reluctantly released her hand, placing it back where it was, and stood up, planting a sole kiss on her feverish forehead. Sliding the chair back to its place, his eyes scanned the room, and landed on a legal pad. He walked over and, tearing out a sheet of the lined yellow paper, proceeded to tear and fold, making an origami rose, sitting it next to her bed. Standing at the door, he took one last, long look at the woman that lay before him, cursed himself for making things end up like this, and made his way out of the room.

He thankfully made it out of the hospital the same way he had entered without anyone paying any particular attention to him. But once he was outside, it was a different story. He pedaled the bike all the way back to the alley that ran behind the abandoned house, but stopped a couple of blocks short where he sat and let the tears flow freely, something he couldn't do in front of anyone else.

Once he was finished, he stood and removed his glasses, wiping his eyes and face, and stayed like that for moment, letting the cool breeze dry his cheeks before proceeding to the house to prepare for his next plan of action.


	6. Change of Plans

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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He opened the door to see everyone sitting in the kitchen. John was clean-shaven, and everyone had their hair dyed except Lincoln, since he lacked hair that could be dyed. A hat would do just fine. Everyone stared at him almost hopefully as he entered, shutting the door behind him.

"You should've locked the door," he said flatly, clicking the deadbolt into place. Everyone's eyes dropped, looking around in different places, almost anticipating Michael's next move, a move that no one was quite sure what it was yet. "We need to be ready to move out at any given second, we're not taking any chances." With that, he walked out of the kitchen. The group exchanged puzzled glances before Lincoln rose and followed his brother.

"What happened, Michael?"

"Nothing. I was starting to get careless with planning, I can't let that happen. It's time for me to go back to being meticulous. If we're going to stay one step ahead of the cops, I need to be detail oriented." He had become agitated with himself for talking that much. He'd always known that the less he said, the better off he was, but his never-ending thoughts were warping his perception as far as common sense was concerned. "Have Abruzzi come in here."

Lincoln did as he was told, and Abruzzi walked into the room, eyeing Michael.

"What is it now, Fish?"

"Call your people." Michael told John where the chopper needed to be. "Make damn sure they know their way to Tooele, Utah." He handed Abruzzi the phone and watched him make the call. When he disconnected the call, he gave the phone back to Michael, who slipped it into his pocket and left the room.

Lincoln and Sucre were standing around in what used to be the living room, not talking, just somewhat enjoying a comfortable silence. It was something that become common with the two of them; their silence spoke volumes that words couldn't describe.

Michael stood and eyed both of the men, noticing all of the little changes that time and stress had forced upon them, mostly their facial features. Lines were forming on their skin years before they should, their eyes were becoming gradually more squinted, and for a moment Michael thought he could see specks of gray hair. He gave an inward sigh and shook his head slowly, almost in defeat or pity.

Lincoln turned toward him. "What do we do now, Michael?"

He stared at his brother for a short moment, then closed his eyes briefly. "We wait."

Lincoln threw his hands up in surrender, walking away at his brother's lack of an answer. He knew it was the only logical one, but it still frustrated him all the way down to his core. He had to see Veronica, he had to see LJ, he had to clear his name. But most importantly, he wanted one thing more than anything else, and that was to be the man he never was. He wanted to be LJ's father, like a father should be. He wanted Veronica, the woman whose face kept flashing in his mind in the final seconds before his scheduled execution. He used to lay on his cot at night and muster every ounce of strength in his body just to remember her scent, the feel of her skin, the essence of her touch, the fire of her passion. She had listened to him in ways no one else ever had, she had offered him advice that was truly heartfelt, advice that showed her concern for his safety and wellbeing.

And now he found himself in an almost identical situation. He had nothing but time on his hands, and he couldn't stop the racing thoughts about Veronica and LJ. "Damn it." His obscenity was nothing more that a muffled complaint, not wanting idle time bearing its weight on his shoulders.

Sucre looked over at the death row convict and studied him intently. He knew that the man was going through the same thing he was, maybe even a little worse. When he wasn't thinking about how we was going to survive for the time being, he was thinking about Maricruz and his child. Every time he was approached with the possibility of her leaving him, tears swelled up in those eyes of his, leaving him vulnerable to any attack that might come. It left him unprepared and he knew it was something Michael frowned upon, despite knowing how hard it was to fight the urges of compassion. Those feelings would only lead him back to imprisonment, or an even worse fate if he didn't keep his emotions in check. _Great,_ he thought to himself. _That'd really mess me up good. Thinking about her like this could take away any chance I'd have of seeing her again._ He drew up strength from the pit of his stomach and pushed those thoughts into the back of his mind, the part where all of his secrets and fears lay hidden from prying eyes, deep within the shadows of his subconscious.

Michael had stood and watched the two men. First, he watched his brother quietly deal with what must be an overwhelming aggravation, having been told he had nothing to do but wait, just like his days on death row, counting the minutes until this hell came to a halt and a new one began. It was still the same scenario, because once this hell of waiting was over, the new hell of being in the open began, leaving them all vulnerable to a well-timed intrusion into Michael's intricate plan. He felt pity for his former cellmate just as he felt pity for his brother, it was all becoming one in the same. Sucre had almost positive assurance that Maricruz was alright, seeing as how she wasn't involved in this, but it was the thought that he wasn't with her that ate away at his insides, breaking him down mentally and physically. Michael could see it in Sucre's eyes, he saw the fear etched deep into his pupils. It was a fear that was here to stay, for a while at least. He wished he could help his friend and his brother, even with a phone call, but he was almost positive that their lines would be tapped, expecting a call from one of the escaped convicts. Michael only used the phone for necessities and emergencies, and although he felt pangs of hurt at the added stress it placed on Lincoln and Sucre, he couldn't let them make their calls. Tomorrow would be different, though. Right there in the living room, he vowed that he'd let the two of them make one short call apiece right before they left for the helicopter. He realized that it may seem unfair from the outsider's point of view, unfair that he had made calls already. But in truth, the only call he made that would be suspicious was to Nika, and that was a necessity. The police wouldn't blindly tap hospital phones, much less mafia lines. Michael knew that, and he hoped his comrades did, too.

They all quickly found out that time wasn't easily passed when you couldn't so much as step outside without your stomach being filled with dread. Talking about their respective personal matters was a line that none of them were about to cross, but at the same time, the reciprocating silence was intoxicating. They had sat and played Spades for a while before calling it quits, knowing that everyone's anticipation and apprehension could lead to violence if someone kept overbidding their books, or any other petty thing like that.

They were left with a small handful of mindless activities. Among them were push ups, sit ups, listening to the radio (mostly news broadcasts), and losing themselves in their respective thoughts, thoughts that drowned out the rest of the world. The thoughts had the massive ability to take the volume of Times Square and turn it into nothing more a dull roar, a low rumble in one's ears. Being in a place as unsettlingly quiet as this one, the power of those thoughts drew them into almost a hypnotic state of mind, seemingly vegetative and unresponsive. It did that to everyone except Michael, who had trained himself to always leave one ear open for listening, and one eye to wander and spot things that he would otherwise miss. He could be jerked out of the mind numbing trance at the slightest sight or sound, something that got under his skin when he was intently focused on something. His distractions were usually nothing worth a damn in prison, but out here in the open and on the run, that well-honed skill could save all of their lives. He inwardly beamed a smile at himself, finally taking the time to take pride in something he did, even if it wasn't for the most legal cause in the world. After this whole ordeal was over, and Michael hoped it would come to a peaceful end, his precision skill would work to his advantage in the real world, when he wasn't desperately avoiding any suspicious glares from people. But unfortunately, all of that was what he was faced with now, and even though it bothered him quite often, it was well worth it. Saving his brother's life has been coming with a heavy price tag, but letting him die held no value, no purpose whatsoever.

Michael had been absentmindedly pacing a circle in the cellar, they'd gone down there when the plywood windows had prevented the last of the sun's rays from filtering into the house, and he sighed as he shoved his hands in his pockets, going crazy with anticipation. His left hand hit something metal and it took a moment for his mind to register what it was. Freezing in his tracks, he felt dread creeping from his stomach up through his body into his throat as he carefully pulled out the object.

It was Westmoreland's gold pocket watch.

Images of the old man's finally minutes violently flashed through Michael's head, some parts slower than other, and he kept hearing his own words.

_I promise._

He had promised Charles that he would send Poppa's love to Anna, his daughter that was dying in some hospital, probably well aware by now what had happened to her loving father. He had died from keeping the plan in tact for the rest of them, and the guilt of taking him from his daughter constricted Michael's chest tenfold.

He silently made his way up the stairs the phonebook, where he used the display light of the cell to scan all of the area hospitals. He dialed all of the numbers, getting the same response each time when he asked for Anna Westmoreland's room number. She wasn't a patient. When all was said and done, only one number remained, and bile rose in Michael's throat as he pieced together one of his largest mistakes ever. To verify his suspicions, he swiftly punched in the number, and sure enough, Anna was there, exactly two floors above Sara.

Michael cursed himself for his ignorance, cursed himself for his forgetfulness, but most of all, deep down, he cursed himself for being human and making a mistake. It wasn't a casual everyday mistake, it was one that could alter their whole plan, spin what reassurance they had straight into oblivion, but he knew what he had to do.

Easing the phone book shut, he trekked back down to cellar, deciding everyone deserved to know where he was going and why. He incidentally left out the fact that everything may change from this moment on, thinking better against getting the others all riled up over what may be nothing more than an untimely deterrence.

This would normally be the time when Abruzzi when question the possibility of what everyone would do if he happened to get caught, but he had a chopper waiting at noon, he could easily redirect it to Mexico and leave Utah behind. It didn't matter to him anymore. Knowing that Abruzzi didn't care, Michael pulled his brother to the side. He quickly briefed Lincoln on everything he and Sucre were to do, Abruzzi included if he chose, in case he had an unfortunate run-in with the law. When he was finished, Lincoln pulled him into a brief but reassuring hug. "Good luck, Mike. Be careful."

Michael slipped a smile and nodded slightly before taking a flashlight upstairs and sneaking out of the back door with his bike.

The ride to the hospital this time seemed to take a considerably longer amount of time, idle time that Michael's brain had a mini-fiesta inside his head. He wanted so bad to see Sara while he was there again, but he couldn't. Firstly, it would just break his heart even more, knowing what he did to her, and it would also increase the risk of him being noticed. It was nighttime now, and Michael knew even less people would be around. The lack of activity made the task at hand that much riskier, having unoccupied eyes glaring at him and possibly recognizing him. Nonetheless, he pedaled forward, keeping his head tilted and his posture casual.

As the hospital in front of him loomed larger and larger, Michael began to realize exactly how much he would be depending on the service door this time. For the remainder of the ride, he repeated a silent prayer of guidance over and over again in his head, hoping he could do this without jeopardizing his freedom, or his life.

Attempting to look less suspicious, he laid his bike down between the bushes and walked across the lot before repeating his earlier process of deep breathing and shaking hands. When he eased the door open, a whoosh of air colder than the outside's temperature swirled itself around him, engulfing his body in its wrath. He slipped inside and quietly shut the door, then proceeded his ascent up the stairs, trying to be deathly silent.

His plan was failing miserably, he had too much weight on him to be quiet, his footsteps echoed and bounced off of the walls in the narrow stairwell, sending subsequent shivers up and down his spine. Counting the landings with precision, he reached the eighth floor and slipped into the main hall, grateful for the deserted corridor. He briskly made his way to where room 842 was and took a slight pause at the door. He held a deep breath inside his lungs, exhaling it slowly before softly knocking on the door and slipping it open.

Anna's sickly eyes stared at him from across the room, giving him the once-over. He tried to keep his voice low, but comforting and reassuring as he stood next to her bed. "I'm a friend of your father's."

She held his gaze, her eyes almost burning a whole right through him. He could tell he either wasn't wanted here, or wasn't being believed. He slipped his hand into his pocket and carefully removed the watch, the chain snaking out behind it. "He wanted me to give you this, and to give you his love."

Anna gently accepted the watch and looked down at it, running the pad of her thumb over the outside before opening it and seeing her own picture. Michael knew that she must be in pain, not only from her father's passing, but from her illness, and silent tears started to roll down her cheek. She sniffled. "He's had this for so long," she said, a sad smile playing at her lips, knowing that her father was past-tense now. "He must've really liked you."

Michael gave a small smile of his own. "I hope so. Your father was a good man." She smiled back at him, and behind those eyes, Michael knew that she was aware that her father was indeed the infamous D.B. Cooper. Michael had knelt beside her and now grasped her hand gingerly as he rose. "Utah beckons me," he said, knowing it'd register with her.

Her smile dissipated as her brow furrowed. "It's not there. He told me about it, told me it was always there if I needed it. Well…" She looked around nervously. "I needed it."

Michael only gave a slight nod, but inside, he realized that himself and the others were royally screwed as far as money went.

As if sensing his disappointment, Anna continued on. "I won't be needing it anymore." She stared self-pityingly at her, and the room itself. "I moved it all, I knew it wasn't safe there."

Michael listened intently.

She motioned with her forefinger for him to come closer. "It's in Blackfoot, Montana. There's a cabin in the woods up there." She gave him precise directions to the shack. "In the back of the closet in the bedroom, there's two removable panels. Everything matches exactly, but they're close to the left side. Inside is a safe with the money. The combination is 2-6-6-7." She ushered him back again, not needing to whisper anymore.

Michael was still holding her hand, and pulled it to his lips, laying a kiss on it before setting it down and rising, placing another kiss on the top of her head, not minding her sweaty hair. "Thank you, Anna."

She gave a weak smile and nodded, cueing Michael to leave. He edged backwards out of the door, wanting to make sure Anna knew he was sincere with his words. He eased the door shut and turned around, bumping into a nurse pushing a cart of toiletries and the like.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, his face flushing red as his fear built inside of him.

The tired nurse gave him a genuine smile and nodded. "No, it's okay," she said, with a deep, black, southern accent.

Michael returned the smile and made his way back down the hall, grateful that she was gone when he reached his door to the service stairwell.

After being in the harsh air of the narrow stairwell, the air outside felt warm against his gooseflesh-covered skin. He breathed a sigh of relief as he picked up his bike and pedaled away, thankful that the nurse didn't recognize him. He was completely unaware that someone was following him, being sure to keep their distance.

Even when he was in the back alley, he had no notice of the person watching his every move, taking special notice of the door he went in.

He slid the bike inside and clicked the deadbolt, rolling his transportation to the bedroom. When he entered the kitchen, the other three were standing there, looking like hungry birds waiting for their midnight snack. Michael softly cleared his throat. "Change of plans, John. We're going to Blackfoot, Montana."

Abruzzi glared angrily at him. "Not unless you give me Fibonacci's location right now."

Michael smiled a small smile. "How would you like a million dollars?"

Abruzzi's look changed to one that was intrigued.

"All you have to do is leave Fibonacci out of this."

John rubbed his chin where his beard used to be, forgetting for a second it was shaved, and pondered the proposition. "Deal."

Michael's smile remained as he slipped the phone out of his pocket, reaching it out towards Abruzzi. Before he took it, there was a quiet knock on the door, a knock that froze everyone in their tracks. When common sense set it, they shook the cobwebs out of their heads and eased into the stairwell, once again leaving Michael to the door.

Knowing that this visitor was unexpected, he slowly produced the small handgun from the inside pocket of the overstuffed jacket, holding it firmly in his hand. He walked to the door, and instead of opening it, he crouched down and almost crab-walked to the side until he was under the kitchen table. He stretched out his free hand and carefully twisted the deadbolt, retracting his hand and getting in the cover of the shadows under the table. He took a deep breath and held it, waiting for something, anything, to happen. The door finally began to ease open, quite slowly, as someone in dark jeans slipped inside. He could only see from the knee down, until whoever it was walked farther into the kitchen, seeming to try to adjust to the darkness. Michael could see the full back view, but it was only a silhouette until it turned around. The moonlight that was cast inside the house hit the persons face, and Michael could distinguish those features anywhere.

"Sara," he breathed helplessly.


	7. Answers

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the hiatus. A lack of reviews doesn't make for the best motivation. Hope you enjoy it, let me know. 

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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The cool air from outside softly swirled through the open door, but Sara could recognize that soft whisper anywhere.

"Michael?" It was more of a question, wondering where exactly he was, not being able to see him.

He tucked the gun back into his jacket and slowly crept out of his hiding place, trying to find his voice, which turned out to still be a whisper.

"What are you doing here, Sara?"

She stood silent as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and her eyes registered Michael's new look.

"It's not safe."

"Neither was sneaking into a hospital, Michael. Twice."

His eyes dropped to the floor, not knowing how to come back from her comment. She had a point. "I had to do it."

Her gaze was burning a hole in the top of his head, eventually forcing him to look up and lock eyes. He was met with a look that held a multitude of emotions, ranging from hurt to sadness to excitement to fear, and everything in between.

"How'd you find me?" His question verified that she'd left his mind in shambles, not piecing things together.

"I followed you from the hospital."

Michael had to reach out and steady himself on the table, trying to stop his world from spinning out of control. The silence was awkward, but neither of them broke their gaze. There was so much both of them wanted, needed, to say, but no one could figure out where to start.

"I'm going with you, Michael, wherever it is you're going."

Her statement left him in shock long enough for common sense to grab control of him. "You can't do that, Sara. It's not safe for anyone, especially you. Not only is it physically dangerous, but it would kill your reputation, running with fugitives."

"Oh, and I'm sure overdosing on morphine helped anything?"

Her sarcasm hit him hard, leaving him in another guilt trip, one that she could see in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't of snapped like that. I'm just saying, there's not much that can damage whatever reputation I have left. I'd rather take a chance and be happy than sit around and be miserable."

Michael's brain swarmed, it seemed as if she had a comeback for everything he said, and a slight smile of admiration played at his lips. It took him a minute, but he finally managed to gather his thoughts. "Let me think about it, okay Sara?"

She gave a small nod of agreement, but Michael saw pain flicker behind her eyes, pain that came from somewhere deep inside her fragile being.

"Go down to the cellar." His tone was purposefully flat, trying to conceal all of his emotions from her as he gently shut the back door and locked it.

She could see a light glowing from under the crack of the door and wondered what all was down there. She opened the door and a smell of sweat, fear, and anticipation assaulted her nostrils, making her recoil slightly. She almost jumped backwards when she saw Lincoln, Sucre, and Abruzzi crouched there on the steps like predators waiting for their prey to make a mistake. She did notice however, that the other men were just as surprised as she was, when Sucre tumbled backwards down the stairs.

Michael darted past her and hurried down the steps behind Lincoln, and everyone started laughing when Sucre sat up with a goofy smile on his face.

"I think the stairs are uneven, Fish."

Even Abruzzi cracked a grin at Sucre's attempt at humor. All of the panic and anticipation evaporated in that moment, leaving everyone lighthearted until it registered that an outsider was still standing at the top of the stairs.

"What's she doing here, Scofield?" Abruzzi's voice was low and menacing, talking through gritted teeth.

Michael let his smile slowly fade. "It's not a problem, John."

"You better watch your step."

Lincoln and Sucre bolted upright at Michael's side, both of them fed up with Abruzzi thinking he was the one in charge.

"Slow it down, boys, I'm going to bed." Abruzzi trudged down the remaining steps and brushed past the three men, making his way to his bed and laying down.

Sara was at the top of the steps, fidgeting with her hands, half-ashamed at the ruckus brought about on her accord. "I--I'm sorry, I should go."

Michael sprang up the stairs three at a time and caught the bend of her arm as she reached to unlock the door. "Sara…don't go. Please." His voice was a breathless whisper again, intoxicated by her scent, the feel of her skin, the depth of her eyes.

"I shouldn't of came here tonight. You were right, it was too dangerous." It sounded like she was fighting to hold herself together.

"I know it was, Sara. But…" He paused for a moment. "You're already here, there's no need to jeopardize yourself again." It was his turn to counter everything she said now, the shoe finally being on the other foot. It filled him with a sense of warmth, finally feeling like he was somewhat in control of something outside of the prison.

Their eyes stayed locked on each other for what felt like forever, and neither of them minded, both of them enjoying the uneasy joy in their stomachs that was overriding all of the negative feelings in their brains.

"Look on the bright side. We even have an extra bed." He smiled a genuine smile, thankful that it looked like she decided to stay.

"Where's everyone else?"

His smile faded, and for the first time he thought about what was going on with Haywire and Tweener. "T-Bag and C-Note are dead. We split away from Haywire and Tweener as soon as we got over the wire."

Sara's sharp intake of breath was surprisingly audible, but not unexpected. She had such a passion for people in general, overlooking their mistakes.

"C'mon." He led her back downstairs, his hand barely leading her by the small of her back as she sat on the bottom step.

She missed his touch already.

Before she had a chance to reach back out to him, he was across the room, standing over Abruzzi.

"Get up, John. You've got a call to make."

Abruzzi sat up, shaking his head back to reality. He looked up and saw Michael's hand outstretched, the phone waiting to be used.

The call was short, and Abruzzi was asleep again before his head hit the pillow. Michael saw that the others had found more chairs, and they were scattered around the table in the office, Lincoln and Sucre playing blackjack. He approached Sara, and carefully sat down on the stairs next to her, making an attempt at acting casual. He was amazed at how a woman could make a grown man like himself get as squeamish as a schoolboy around her.

Sara had her knees pressed almost to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, and she looked like she was about to start rocking back and forth like a mad woman. She was so caught up questioning her motives for why she came here that she didn't notice Michael staring at her with that penetrating gaze she was so used to. He never really looked at her, but more IN her, as if he was eagerly trying to see into the depths of her soul. She didn't want that, for him to see all of her insecurities.

Michael didn't want to scare her away, but he continued to stare at her intently, trying to determine the best words to use. When he gathered what he thought he should say, his voice was nothing more than an apologetic whisper. "I know you need answers, Sara, but not now. I'll tell you everything you need to know, just…" His voice trailed off. "Just wait for me."

She closed her eyes, not wanting Michael's words to fully sink in. He had hit the nail right on the head, for the most part at least. She wanted answers, explanations for everything that happened, but the only thing she was really concerned about was how he felt about her. She'd done nothing but wonder if she was nothing more than a pawn in his elaborate game of chess, and it sent pains traveling deep within her.

Michael glanced at his watch, noting the time. "You should get some sleep, Sara. We've got a big day tomorrow."

His smile made her fill with joy, knowing that he decided she could go with them. She tried to hide most of her happiness and made an attempt at sounding subtle. "Thank you, Michael."

"If things get bad, you've got to come back to Illinois, where it's safe for you."

She nodded in agreement, not wanting to think about the dangerous what-ifs, only letting her mind wander with thoughts about Michael, letting him know that he was already forgiven for everything. She knew she shouldn't let him off that easy, but she couldn't help herself. Her feelings grew for this inmate every time she thought about him, every time he came in for his insulin. She remembered how hurt she was when he'd come in to the infirmary with various injuries, specifically his severed toes. She remembered how she'd thought she was feeling internal pain that equaled his physical pain, even though she knew she was wrong. However, it still hurt her, to see this man in such pain, the redness of his face, the tears in his eyes. She had wanted to do anything she could to end his suffering, but had to settle to tending to his wounds, and asking questions which were answered with obvious lies.

Slowly bringing herself out of the past and back to reality, she wished that they were in her apartment curled up around a warm fire, rather than a cold cellar with three other sweaty convicts. She didn't particularly have any grudges against the other men, but it was the principle of the matter; she wanted to be alone with Michael. Not for the first time that night, she had thought about asking Michael and Lincoln if they'd like to stay at her apartment, but she couldn't do it. Not only would John and Fernando have to stay there, she didn't want to interfere with whatever plans they had already established. She knew, based solely on Michael's escape plan, that anything he planned out was vigorously thought out down to the slightest detail. Offering them something else would only lead to disaster.

Her train of thought was interrupted when Michael stood up, walking over to the table. He bent down and whispered in Lincoln's ear. "Before we leave tomorrow, tell Veronica where to meet us. I'll give you directions in the morning." Everyone who was paying attention couldn't help but notice the satisfied smile on the man's face.

Michael wanted to be alone with Sara, to explain everything to her, from start to finish, completely oblivious that she wanted the same thing. An idea to successfully put his plan into action came to him, and he decided he'd go for it, hoping she didn't find it out of line. He went over to some boxes stacked in a corner and began rummaging, finally finding what he was looking for. With a candle and a book of matches in his hand, he made his way to the stairs, pausing only a moment to sneak a quick glance at Sara, his eyes saying that he'd be back.

She either didn't comprehend the gesture, or she didn't care, because she almost jumped to her feet and trailed behind him. He gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back, thankful that he wouldn't have to awkwardly attempt to ask her to come upstairs with him.

When he opened the door at the top of the stairs, he carefully lit a match in one hand, lighting the candle and slowly making his way through the house to the back bedroom.

He placed it on the floor in a corner of the room and purposefully laid the extra mattress on the floor. "There's a rather short supply of furniture here," he said with a smile, a look of feign ashamedness on his face.

She was grateful that the tension seemed to be obsolete at the moment, and seized the opportunity for a joke. "Looks like you have this all planned out, huh?"

He turned around, ready to go on the defensive, and then saw that she was trying to stifle a giggle. He, too, was glad. "Well, now that you mention it, it's been on my to-do list for quite some time," he shot back with a smile and a wink.

She allowed herself a laugh, a real laugh, and it felt good, having all of her troubles seem to evaporate on the spot.

"Sit down, Sara," he said, taking a seat on the mattress. She sat beside him, not too close, but close enough to show him that she intended to listen intently to whatever words he spoke. "I think it's time that you got some answers." His words were clear and decisive, filling her with mixed emotions. "In the beginning, you were supposed to be a link in the chain, but I got completely sideswiped once I got to know you. You're such a genuine and sincere person, Sara, and that's not what I'd counted on. As the time drew closer to the escape, I already knew that I never wanted to hurt you in any way, but it was my brother's life on the line. I couldn't let him die like that. No one deserves to go that way, strapped into a chair, wearing a diaper. There's not another thing on this planet that would make me hurt you like that, and I'm just sorry that the one very thing was the cause of this. There was never a trip to your office that didn't leave me feeling overwhelmed with positive feelings, butterflies in my stomach. But the infirmary, it was the only way out. My brain raced, trying to think of any way to do it that involved you to the bare minimum. You didn't need to be caught up in something like that, you deserve better, Sara." He had paused to take a breath, but she took the opportunity to question him.

"Better than the prison, or better than you, Michael?"

His eyes had been closed, but he persuaded them to open. "Both."

"Don't say that. I love my job, and I…" Her voice trailed off, along with Michael's thoughts. The tension had returned, but it was the bottom of the ninth, he had to lay all of his cards on the table. He placed his hand gently on her chin and inched her head towards him, willing her to look at him. His face was no more than two inches from hers, his breath hot and sensual on her cheeks, fuelling her hopefully-hidden desire even more.

"I love you, Sara."


	8. Gone

**Author's Note: **I don't think there's much to say about this one. Read and review, let me know what you think. :) 

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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"I love you, Sara."

His words echoed throughout her head, her heart, leaving her breathless and giddy. Her brain raced with thoughts, with anticipation, having waited to hear those words from him. Now that the time finally came, she found herself struggling not to break down in tears. All of her recent hopes and dreams had come true all with just four small words. She fought to blink back the tears that threatened to stream down her cheeks, still uneasy about relationships, not knowing what to do. She knew what she needed to say, but her voice was overthrown by what she had to say, wanted to say. She turned her head and looked at him again, her eyes devouring every feature and emotion that showed on his face.

"I love you, too, Michael." Her voice was a notch below a whisper, and if the house hadn't been deathly silent, he wouldn't of been able to make out her words.

She hadn't been paying attention to anything outside of the confines of his face, but she became instantly aware of the rest of him when he gently weaved his fingers between hers, never taking his eyes off of her. The most genuine of smiles played at his lips, letting her know that he meant what he said, filling her with an even greater amount of happiness, knowing that she had been a great deal more than just a piece in his chess game.

He pulled away from her, suddenly remembering that he wasn't finished. "Are there any other questions, Sara?" He seemed to of snapped her out of her blissful daze, her brain finally registering his question.

"None that matter." She returned the smile, wanting to get lost in his eyes all over again, praying for that opportunity. She could sense her chance was rapidly approaching, and she was tensing up at the thought of his breath hot on her skin. He leaned in a bit closer, less than an inch separating their lips, but he leaned forward and untied his shoes, slipping them off with his socks. She methodically did the same, half-disappointed at the missed kiss, and her eyes followed him as he stood and walked to the candle, blowing it out before taking his place next to her again. Bits of moonlight still shone through cracks in the wood, and it was more than enough light for him to navigate with. He eased his index and middle fingers under her chin, lifting her head slightly, brushing his lips against hers, fighting to stay in control. He hadn't counted on her hand snaking up to his face, her thumb gently caressing his cheek, a gesture that only deepened the kiss. It went from a feather touch to something near burning passion, each of them wanting to savor every inch of the other's mouth. Michael's right hand crept up beside Sara's head, his fingers laced through her hair, letting the silky strands slide through his fingers. She surprised him when she lightly bit down on his lip, showing an almost kinky side of her that he hadn't seen. Suddenly, something she said earlier came sneaking back into his mind. He had said "I had you pinned for a nice girl." She came back with "Nice girls finish last." He asked her where she finished, and she filled his stomach with butterflies with her response. "Depends on where I start."

The kiss had gradually gone back to being soft touches as Michael finally broke it, resting his forehead against hers, searching her eyes. Moonlight shimmered off of one of her pupils, adding extra beauty to the woman sitting beside him, and he had reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, planting a small kiss on her temple. "Let's go to sleep," he whispered, laying down, using his arm as a pillow, beckoning her to do the same. She had intentionally positioned herself so he would be able to feel every warm contour of her body pressed slightly against him, gnawing away at his logic. He fought and resisted the urge, finally managing to drift off into a peaceful sleep while listening to Sara's already steady breathing.

Michael woke sometime in the early morning hours, his chest fluttering when he remembered Sara had fallen asleep in his arms. He bent his arm up and softly stroked her hair before attempting to slide it from under her head, not wanting to disturb her. When he laid her head back on the mattress, she stirred, causing Michael to silently curse himself. She didn't wake up, though, just readjusted herself to get comfortable, not having Michael's arm as a pillow anymore. He carefully eased himself off the foot of the mattress, sitting on the floor to slide on his shoes and socks. Now that he was fully awake, he was aware of all the thoughts racing through his brain, predominantly his agenda for the day. He was going to have to get five people, four of which being escaped convicts, to the clearing where the helicopter would be waiting, and hope that the flight to Montana was a safe one. He stood up and cautiously made his way through the house, down the stairs, and into the office, turning on the radio to listen to the early news report.

_"Good morning, Chicago. The time now is 4:37, a chilly start to what should prove to be a wonderful day. We now have confirmation that air traffic for northern Illinois has been reopened at midnight last night, so expect some delays."_

Michael shut off the broadcast, none of the other information being important right now. "Everyone up!" He bellowed, trying not to sound too strict. "John, get your chopper here now, we need to leave while it's still dark."

Everyone was sitting up, rubbing their sleepy eyes, left in a state of confusion at Michael's wake up call.

He tossed the phone down beside Abruzzi and went back upstairs, walking lightly into the bedroom. "Sara," he whispered, not wanting to wake her up, but knowing he had to. His hand was gently grasping her left arm, right below her shoulder. "We've got to go."

She groggily opened her eyes, taking a moment before her brain registered Michael's face in front of her and the impact of his words. "Is something wrong, Michael?"

He gave her a light smile. "No, nothing's wrong, but air traffic is open again, we need to leave while it's still dark outside." His hand had been rubbing her arm, a feeling that sent blazing hot trails of passion wherever he touched, but it was gone in an instant. "I'll see you in a minute." With that, he stood and left, nearly getting ambushed by Lincoln when he was in the cellar.

"Veronica and LJ's phones are both disconnected, Mike." The worry and frustration was clear on his face as he tried to hide his panic.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Linc, just take it easy." He was trying to reassure his brother to no avail. Lincoln threw up his hands in defeat and started pacing a line across the length of the room.

"They'll be there in about an hour," Abruzzi said, still tired, tying his shoes. Sucre seemed to be sleeping still, even though he was up and walking, he looked like a comic book zombie.

"Everyone got their backpacks?" The others nodded in unison, looking like it was a routine check, similar to head count back in prison. "Meet me in the back room in five minutes." He trailed back up the stairs, and met Sara in the hallway outside the bedroom. He placed a lovely kiss on her lips, drawing a smile out of her. "Do you need to stop by and get anything? From your place, I mean."

"No, it's okay. I always have an overnight bag in my car, anyway." Her smile was still there, giving Michael all the assurance he needed. "We're taking my car, right?" The thought had eluded him, and now that he thought about it, it made everything a hell of a lot easier.

"I didn't know you had your car here…" His voice trailed off, leaving him sounding lost.

"Katie brought it by the hospital for me. You made it pretty hard to follow you when you left." They smiled at each other, appreciative of the light mood.

"That's the whole point." He winked at her as the other men approached. "How do you guys like those bikes we have?" He forced his question to sound serious, and he laughed inside when they all groaned with mixed protest. "I was hoping you'd say that. We're driving to meet the helicopter." They exchanged confused glances, and realized that Michael wasn't telling them anything else about it, and finally settled on enjoying the new transportation idea. He took one final glance around, mentally going over a checklist. "Yep, let's head out."

They quietly exited the back door, eventually seeing Sara's dark blue Jetta sitting a block away. They piled in the car, Michael driving, Sara in the passenger seat, and the other three in the back, Sucre being in the middle. Sara turned around and noticed that the three men were basically overlapping each other.

"Ouch, sorry about the accommodations, guys," she said apologetically. They waved it off as being no big deal, thankful that they were riding in a car, not running or pedaling a bike.

"This is a luxury to us, Doc," Lincoln said, trying to keep the light hearted mood.

"You can call me Sara, Lincoln. We're not at Fox River anymore, there's no need for formalities like that." Lincoln cast her a pondering gaze before letting a smile show.

"Aw, do I have to?"

Sara laughed out loud, clearly amused with the man's humor. "No, you don't have to." With that out of the way, conversation came easy as the drive to the clearing commenced.

Throughout the whole trip, Michael had silently prayed that they'd get to their destination in Joliet without any conflict, and he was relieved when they made it to the clearing, surrounded by trees for a good mile in every direction. He parked the car about 15 yards in the woods, away from the clearing, not wanting any unwanted aircraft to see a car sitting in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at his watch, their ride should be arriving any minute now.

"Alright, everyone out," he announced, feeling bad for having to leave Sara's car out here. They all shuffled towards the clearing, the sound of the helicopter filling them with relief. Michael hung back a few yards with Sara. "I'm sorry about your car, Sara. I'll make it up to you, buy you a new one, I promise."

She looked at him, almost baffled. "Michael Scofield, stop worrying and stop apologizing. It's just a car. Besides, it was a graduation present from my father." The last part of her comment was laced with resentment at just the thought of the man who had more or less disowned her.

He sympathized with her, having been the object of neglect for so many years. Judging solely by Lincoln's posture, Michael could tell that his earlier phone calls were still eating him up inside. Even though he had told his brother it'd be fine, he was worried about Veronica, too. Pushing all the negative thoughts from his mind, he leaned over and placed a kiss on the side of Sara's head, glad that she was here with him.

The helicopter was back in the air without any problems, and very little discussion about why there was a woman running with a group of felons. The interior was pretty cramped, but everyone managed to fall back asleep, Sara's head resting on Michael's shoulder, his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close, enjoying her scent.

By the time they reached their landing zone, everyone was more or less awake, anxious, and apprehensive. The sun was casting its first rays of light through the trees, warming everyone up a little bit as they hiked through the woods towards the cabin. The nearest place the helicopter could land was a good two miles from their destination, and the convicts didn't really mind, kind of enjoying the exercise after being cooped up inside. They had stopped to rest about a mile into the journey, mostly for Sara. They understood that she wasn't incarcerated like they were, most of their time spent working out. She was surprisingly anxious to start walking again, her reasoning being that she didn't think it was a good idea to just wait there like sitting ducks. Everyone knew she was right and agreed, they needed to get to the cabin, and find that money. Their temporary life on the run would be a great deal easier once they had sufficient funds to do what needed to be done. They were all aware that cold cash can keep someone's mouth shut, and it was one of the only allies they had at the moment.

Michael could see a break in the trees, followed by something much larger than a "cabin", surrounded by a rather expansive field. The wooden palace overlooked a beautiful lake, shimmering with the reflecting morning sun. A mix of feelings overcame them, surprised and excited at the large structure, but cautious for the same reason.

"This place is beautiful." Sara's spoken response was something that everyone was thinking. They had came through the woods on the side of the house and, using their prison smarts, they snuck around the side, keeping low, ducking below windows, not chancing to look inside. Lincoln was in the lead, at the corner of the front and the side, about to step up under the railing onto the porch.

"Lincoln!" His name was a whisper, but it was a loud one, almost like a hissing sound. His head spun around, trying to locate where the voice came from, and then he saw her.

"Veronica!"


	9. Funds

**Author's Note: **Here's Chapter Nine, hope it suits everyone. Read and Review if you love it, hate it, read it, it doesn't matter. Any reviews and comments are more than welcome, they're my motivation for continuation. Enough rambling, onto the story... 

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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Lincoln exploded with emotions, mostly relieved that she was okay. She had just come around the back corner of the house, and both of them ran to each other, enveloping the other in a warm embrace. "Why didn't you answer your phone?" His voice was loud and ecstatic.

"Sh, you've gotta be quiet, Linc. What are you doing here?" He leaned in close, taking extra caution to keep the conversation between the two of them.

"Westmoreland's money, it's here."

Veronica's mouth hung open, shock and surprise imminent on her face. "That can't be right…" It sounded like her brain was swarming with thoughts, trying to piece things together.

"Why not? Of course it's right!" While he was still whispering, it was a whisper mixed with excitement and agitation.

"Because Terrance Steadman lives here!" She returned the panicked whisper, leaving Lincoln stunned. He turned around, giving the others a confused glance, drawing them closer.

"What's going on, V?" Michael looked just as lost as everyone else.

"Terrance Steadman, he's alive, and he lives here. Me and Nick were able to figure it out, and here I am. I just got here, not even ten minutes ago. I peeked through the glass doors in the back, he's sleeping in a recliner, and he's got dentures!" Everyone could sense her excitement. "THAT'S why the dental records matched that exhumed body!"

The five of them stared at her, urging her to continue.

"We can solve this problem, but I don't have my old phone anymore, we need a camera."

Sara absentmindedly reached into her purse and pulled out her camera phone, extending it to whoever decided to take it. "It, uh…" Her voice was a nervous stammer. "It can shoot 30 second video clips, too, if that helps."

Veronica's eyes doubled in size, the relief was overwhelming, she had to fight to contain her joy, to keep her voice low. "Okay, okay. If we can get into that house quietly, we can record him. Then we'll take it, show it to the authorities. You'll HAVE to be exonerated!" Her excitement was back again, her voice never staying soft for long.

Michael decided he needed to take charge again. "Uh, alright. John, you and Sucre stay out here and keep watch with Sara." He handed Abruzzi the gun that was tucked in his waistband, but not without a stern warning before relinquishing control. "Only if you have to." His gaze pierced the man's, leaving no doubt that he was serious. Abruzzi could sense that Michael wasn't kidding, but a sly smile played on his lips anyway.

"You keep that one, Fish," he said, slinging his backpack off of his shoulder, unzipping it to reveal Captain Bellick's sawed-off shotgun.

"I told you to leave it, John."

Abruzzi stared at him with eyes almost resembling an apologetic puppy. "I'm not gonna be hanging around with you forever, Scofield. I needed something to make sure I could get by, when we went our separate ways, which should be after I get my slice of the pie from that house." He motioned to the big house with the shotgun, his smile never faltering.

Michael looked like he was mulling over the idea of putting a bullet in Abruzzi's head, but decided against it, instead turning his attention to everyone else. "Alright, V, it's gonna work like a chain of sorts. You wait by the door. Lincoln, you wait about halfway between the door and Steadman. I'll go up to him and make sure he's sleeping. When I give you the signal, Linc, relay it to Veronica. V, when he does that, start the video, but shoot you first, state the date, time, and location, and quietly make your way in, and tape him. As soon as I pass the signal to Linc, I'm going to get the money. Got it?"

Lincoln and Veronica nodded in agreement, butterflies tormenting everyone's stomach. Michael cast a look at the three who were to keep watch. "If there's any sign of trouble, get out of here, all of you, together." Sucre nodded eagerly, obviously nervous, aching to make sure Michael knew how much he appreciated everything he'd done for him.

Michael crept around to the back of the house, followed by Veronica, with Lincoln bringing up the rear. He stopped and pressed his back tightly against the wall next to the glass doors, the blistering burn on his back making him nauseous with a fiery pain. The other two did the same, noticing all of Michael's features crinkled together in agony. He let out a deep breath and slowly peered through the door, Terrance Steadman visible, seemingly fast asleep in his recliner. His fingers slid into the groove that was the handle and gave a slight push, the door sliding open a bit, silently. Michael was amazed at his luck, but considered it normal to leave the doors unlocked in an uncharted location such as this. He eased the door open further, taking every precaution not to make any noise, and began tip toeing across the hardwood floor with Lincoln behind him, their soft footsteps echoing slightly.

He made it to the side of Steadman's chair, and walked around the back of it, until he was face to sleeping face with the "dead" man. He looked over at his brother, giving a small nod, before proceeding down the hallway. He paused at the doorway of what was clearly the master bedroom, able to strain his ears to hear Veronica and Lincoln's footsteps softly bouncing off the walls. With a satisfied smile, he crept into the room and cautiously opened the closet door. Leaning in, he felt around the back panels, and found one with a little give in it and smiled to himself. He froze in fear when he felt cold steel against his back, followed by a hushed whisper.

"You shouldn't of complicated things, Michael Scofield." It was Secret Service Agent Paul Kellerman. "Put your hands up, slowly, and turn around." Michael did as he was told, his brain racing, attempting to think of a last minute plan to save his life. He wondered if the others had ran like he told them to. God, he hoped so. He'd put Sara in danger yet again, he wouldn't be able to bear the weight of this guilt if anything happened to her. "Now, Mr. Scofield, you're going to remain silent. We don't want to wake up Mr. Steadman. I'm sure Madam President wouldn't like that too much." Kellerman produced a pair of handcuffs with his free hand, cuffing one of Michael's wrists, and fastening the other cuff around the metal bar running horizontal in the closet. He pressed the gun firmly under Michael's chin. "Now remember, not a sound."

Michael watched as the agent crept across the floor and out of the room. When the coast was clear, he started looking around, and noticed that the bar could be removed quite easily. All he had to do was push either side up, and the bar was now free. He had no idea what to do now, knowing that the man would hear his footsteps if he followed him, and the handcuffs against the bar if he moved around. His mind continued to race, going over every possible angle, until he heard a shotgun blast ring out in his ears, followed immediately by the soft piercing noise of the agent's silenced pistol. Panic swept over him as he slid the cuffs off one end of the bar, no longer concerned about noise. Drawing his .38 from his waist, he moved swiftly out of the room and down the hallway, seeing the fallen agent sprawled out on the floor, face down, Lincoln and Sucre pinning a woken Steadman to the ground. His eyes surveyed the scene, noticing everyone was inside now, Sara and Veronica looking close to tears. He did a quick search of Kellerman's pockets, locating the key to the handcuffs. He unlocked the one on his wrist and rushed over to his brother and cellmate, who now had Steadman on his stomach. He cuffed the man's wrists tightly behind his back and stood him up, sitting him back down in his recliner.

Michael ran his hands over his head, completely taken back by the unexpected turn of events. "What happened?"

"The bastard came out from back there, Mike," Lincoln said, nodding towards the bedroom. "He grabbed Veronica, held the gun to her head, made me get down on my knees. He shoved her at me, and she tripped, and Sucre stepped in the doorway and dropped him. Steadman jumped up and reached for his phone, but me and Sucre, we got him down." He smiled at Sucre, thankful that he was there, then noticed the wound that Kellerman's pistol had left. Michael closed the gap between them, concerned for his friend, noticing the blood soaking through Sucre's shirt, trickling down his arm.

"Dammit. We need to get you to a doctor, Sucre."

Sucre just smiled a nervous smile, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. "It's just a shoulder wound, papi, I'll be fine." Michael looked at him disbelievingly before turning his attention back to Veronica.

"How'd you get here, V?"

"I uh, rented a car from the airport."

"What kind?"

"A Lincoln."

"Please, V, please tell me it's a Navigator."

Her gaze dropped to the floor.

"V?" His tone was pleading.

"It's a Continental."

"Wonderful." The sarcasm was blunt, and it made her wince. "We'll have to make do with it. Did you get Steadman on video?"

She pulled the phone out of her pocket, nodding with a smile.

"Good. Go get your car, bring it up here. Lincoln, go with her, take the shotgun." They did as they were told, exiting the house cautiously. Michael went back to the closet in the bedroom, managing to get the panels loose in a matter of seconds. Behind the wall was a different room altogether, and the safe that lay inside was bigger than he'd ever counted on, looking more like a vault. He had it open in a short time, the door swinging heavily, revealing five knapsacks. Michael unzipped one, relieved that it was indeed money, wrapped in clear plastic for extra protection, probably from when it was in Utah. He smiled to himself and started handing the sacks out to Sucre and Abruzzi, who had followed him like eager puppies. Their eyes lit up at the thought that each of the knapsacks was filled with money, Abruzzi with two, Sucre with one, and Michael with the other two. He closed the safe back, crawled between the panels, and put them back in their place before heading out and setting his bags in the trunk of the car with the other three. Sucre was standing on one side of the car by himself, giving Michael an opportunity. He placed his hand on his friend's back.

"Thank you, Sucre. You may have very well just saved all our lives. I owe you one."

Sucre just smiled. "No, Fish. I owed YOU one, remember? I've still got a big debt to pay. I mean, you got me out of that hole, papi."

Michael returned the smile. "We'll call it even."

With that, Sucre shook his hand and laughed, climbing into the back of the car with Michael, Sara, and Abruzzi. Lincoln climbed in to drive, Veronica in the passenger seat. Sara and Abruzzi had window seats, Sucre next to Sara, Michael next to Abruzzi. With a great deal of persistence on his part, and Sara's, Sucre finally agreed to let Dr. Tancredi take a look at it.

"Well, at least it when through cleanly," she said, trying to sound positive. "Didn't hit any bones, or do any major nerve damage, either. You got lucky, Fernando."

"Aw, c'mon, Doc. Call me Sucre. Fernando seems uncomfortably formal." He shared a laugh with the doctor as she opened her overnight bag, putting a medicated patch on the wound and wrapping his shoulder in gauze, an ace bandage over top of it.

"That should do it, for now, at least. There shouldn't be any problems, just keep it clean."

He nodded in agreement. Everyone seemed to be on edge, but excited at the same time, even if the backseat was cramped with four people.

"Where are we going, Mike?" Lincoln was maneuvering the car down what seemed to be a path through the woods, almost resembling a service road, doing his best to avoid potholes.

"Uh, make a right whenever you get to an actual road."

"No, make a left, onto Highway 2," Veronica corrected. "Cut Bank is about 40 miles up the highway. There's a Super 8 Motel, 609 West Main Street. It's sixty to seventy dollars a night."

Everyone in the car looked at her, astonished.

"You know everything, don't you, V?"

She turned in her seat to face him, giving him a satisfied smile. "I try, Mike. I try." The car erupted with laughter, the group of them finally being able to let their guard down for the time being.

"You're our little human atlas, Veronica." Lincoln was staring at her, trying his best to look seductive, causing her lose it and laugh uncontrollably, making everyone smile, seeing the joy that she brought Lincoln. The drive took about two hours with Lincoln being careful to stay a couple miles below the speed limit. The last thing they needed was to get pulled over for a traffic violation.

The parking lot of the Motel 8 was rather deserted, almost all of it's rooms probably vacant. "Good," Michael thought. Lincoln drove deeper into the lot, away from the office, not wanting the attendant to be able to see them.

"Veronica, Sara, you two need to go use your credit cards, pay for adjoining rooms, each with two beds, preferably first floor." The two of them nodded at Michael's instruction. Sucre opened his door and stood to let Sara out, then sat back down, letting out a sigh.

"I can't believe this is working, Michael," he said, watching the two women stride purposefully to the office.

Michael nodded at him, appreciative of the hidden praise, then turned his attention to Abruzzi. "You can leave whenever you want to, John. We'll give you your million, and you can be on your way."

Abruzzi's eyes narrowed, now becoming rather furious at himself for agreeing to give up on Fibonacci. He knew he wouldn't, he'd just have to approach it a different way, or deal with being Falzone's human pin cushion. He cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, Fish. I'll be gone soon, lay low in one of the safe houses or something." Michael could see that Abruzzi was nervous, and probably at least a little scared, finally going back on his own with no college boy Scofield to elude him from the authorities. He didn't particularly care for the mobster, nor did he believe he was a "changed man", but it was in his nature to be concerned about people, and he knew he'd help Abruzzi if need be.

"Now, what about you, Sucre? Is there anywhere you could go? Back to Chicago or something?"

Sucre bowed his head and shook it slowly, almost sadly. "No, I don't think so." His voice was laced with nervousness and embarrassment. "I can't even go to Maricruz yet, not with that pendejo Hector hanging around. I have to figure out what to do about that, get her to realize how much I love her, her and the baby." Tears threatened to flow down his face, tears he had to blink away.

Michael nodded solemnly, feeling for his cellmate. "You can stay with us, if you need to."

Sucre's eyes lit up. "Y--yeah, of course, I mean, just until I can get everything straightened out, papi, you know." Michael smiled and nodded at the man's nervous rambling.

"I know." Before he knew it, he was pulled into a bear hug by Sucre, who almost immediately recoiled at the pain it brought to his shoulder.

"I forgot about it already," he said with a goofy smile of embarrassment on his face. Lincoln laughed from the front seat, a low, hearty chuckle, and noticed Sara and Veronica walking towards the car.

Each of them held up two identical keycards, accomplished smiles accompanying their respectively stunning features.

"So, where are the rooms?" Lincoln was drumming his fingers on the outside of the door.

"128, and 129." Veronica's smile stayed in place, motioning towards the two doors that they had parked in front of. "I guess the receptionist figured we parked here for a reason." She let out a laugh as everyone piled out of the car.

"You're staying with us tonight, right, John?" Michael was still concerned for the man.

"Uh, yeah, Fish. Sure. I'll leave in the morning." Michael nodded, and motioned for Lincoln to pop the trunk. "We'll put one in each room," he said, referring to the sacks of money, "and leave the others in the car. Just in case." Everyone knew "just in case" meant if they were discovered, they should at least make it out with one bag of money, which, judging by the five bags, was probably a million dollars. They hoped that wouldn't be the case, dividing up a million meant substantially less money for everyone as opposed to five million.

"Uh, Michael." Sucre was looking at him, his brow furrowed in what seemed like concern.

"Hm?"

"Four beds and six people. What's going on?"

Michael was silent, leaving Lincoln to seize the opportunity to be in charge for a minute.

"You and Abruzzi in one room, the rest in the other," he said.

Veronica handed Sucre the two cards to 128, who passed one to Abruzzi. Michael could speak again.

"We'll open the adjoining door, we've got some things to discuss." With that, they headed to their respective rooms, noting the average one star motel furnishings. The beds were dressed in a tacky puke green floral print, the drapes being a dark, heavy tan. There was a television mounted on the wall, centered across from the two beds, giving each occupant an even view. The matching puke green carpet looked grimy and worn, as did the desk and table. Michael walked over and dropped the bag in between the beds, switching on the lamp before heading to the front door and turning off the overhead light. Standing at the window, he noted a spacious pool and hot tub, filling him with thoughts about how relaxing it would feel to just sit there, enveloped in water. Shaking free of the tormentingly comforting thoughts, he closed the blinds and drew the drapes shut, making the room look eerily dim, not having the afternoon sun basking the area anymore. He opened the adjoining door and instructed Abruzzi and Sucre to do the same, making sure they did it right. "Alright," he said. "Bring those three chairs in here." He pulled the table out and slid one chair behind it, placing the other five around, making room for everyone.

"What now?" It was one of the first things Sara had said in a while, her silence had left Michael hurt and worried.

"Well, we're going to need clothes."

"There's a mall next to the motel, I can go get them," Veronica said. "Sara can come, too, if she wants."

Sara gave a curt nod, going back to being silent.

"You know mine and Linc's sizes, V." He turned to Sucre and Lincoln. "What about you two?"

They gave their basic measurements, which Michael wrote down on a piece of paper from the notepad he'd found in the night stand. He tore off the paper and handed it to Veronica as he stood, gently pulling her arm, signaling her to follow him. He hugged her, so he could whisper in her ear without looking too suspicious.

"Make sure Sara buys some clothes, V. Please. There's other supplies on the list, too. Get them if you can." He broke the hug and handed her a wad of cash, and she nodded with a smile.

"I will." She mouthed the words more than she spoke them, keeping with the "secret".

Lincoln was next in line to hug her, handing her the keys to her rental. "Be safe." He kissed her forehead, a gesture that warmed her to the core, sending shivers up her spine at the same time. God, she missed him.

Sara glanced at Michael as he smiled at her, not sure if she should hug him or not.

"Be careful," he said flatly, even though his eyes told a different story, one of genuine concern.

She nodded, and they were gone, leaving the four convicts alone.


	10. Surreal

**Author's Note: **I think this chapter brought something to the table that this story needed. Let me know any and all of your thoughts :) 

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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Michael, Lincoln, and Sucre had paced mindlessly around the rather small motel room from the moment Sara closed the door behind her, almost constantly sneaking glances out of the front window, hoping to see them pull up. Abruzzi, however, seemed more preoccupied with something else, predominantly his life if Fibonacci wasn't dead before Falzone's trial.

Sucre had sat down on the edge of one of the beds and turned on the television, flipping through the channels until he came to the first news broadcast he found. He turned the volume up substantially, wanting to hear what was going on.

_"Out of the eight convicts that managed to escape from Fox River Penitentiary, seven are still at large, with Benjamin "C-Note" Franklin being gunned down shortly after the escape. He is survived by a wife, DeeDee, and his young daughter. FBI Agent Mahone has personally issued a reward for any information leading to the capture of these dangerous men. Twenty five thousand dollars each for Michael Scofield, Fernando Sucre, John Abruzzi, Theodore "T-Bag" Bagwell, David "Tweener" Apolskis, and Charles "Haywire" Patoshik. A doubling fifty thousand is up for Lincoln Burrows, the escaped death row inmate, found guilty of murdering now-President Caroline Reynolds brother, Terrance Steadman. Warden Henry Pope, Vice President Frank Tancredi, Chicago law enforcement, and the FBI are working as a collective unit, vowing to recapture the fugitives. When asked for further comment, all parties denied except Agent Mahone, who provided us with what we know thus far. We have to take a short break, but we'll back with your weather on the ones."_

Sucre muted the TV and tossed the remote on the bed, putting his head in his hands and sighing right before the door opened. Sara and Veronica barged in, plastic bags strewn all the way up both of their arms as Veronica pushed the door shut with her foot. The four men rushed over to relieve the women of the load, setting the bags on the closest bed. They all took seats in various places on the beds, their gazes urging the girls to start handing out clothes. Veronica felt obliged to do the honors, noticing how uncomfortable Sara already was.

"Alright, we each have two suits of clothes," she said, pulling out two pairs of stylishly faded dark blue jeans and two polo shirts, one red, and one dark blue, tossing them to Sucre.

The man looked like a little kid on Christmas morning, having just discovered all the goods Santa had left him under the tree. He couldn't contain his excitement as he repeatedly thanked them, acting like the clothes were the equivalent of the answer to life.

John got a couple pairs of dark slacks, and two short sleeved dress shirts. Lincoln got cargo jeans and white tee shirts. Michael got a pair of khaki pants and faded jeans, a white dress shirt, and a dark green long sleeved tee shirt.

Sara and Veronica didn't share their clothes with the rest of them, instead moving on to handing Michael the other supplies as he went over his mental checklist.

When the bags were empty, he rose with a suit of his clothes and started walking across the room. Turning his head, he threw a quick "thank you" over his shoulder before closing the bathroom door behind him, eager to clean himself up, even if the burn on his back prevented him from showering. He found an ugly tan washcloth draped over the towel rack and wet it under the faucet, steam quickly filling the bathroom. He stripped off his old long sleeve shirt, no longer smelling like a thrift store, and let it fall at his feet, followed his tee shirt. The hem of the shirt got caught on his bandage as he pulled it over his head, tearing it off and sending it dragging across his hideous burn. He winced in pain and bit his lip, determined not to cry out as he finished removing the shirt and dropped it on the floor, staring at it like it was a demon. He muttered a string of obscenities under his breath as he sat on the toilet and removed his shoes and pants, standing up and bracing his hands on either side of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. The man that stared back was one he didn't recognize, a man that only vaguely resembled the structural engineer with the fancy apartment, nice clothes, and fat paycheck. This man was one of instinct, a primitive convict whose only concern was that of his family, his brother. His brother and nephew were the only things this man had left. He could no longer be a structural engineer due to his felony charge, but he no longer cared about any of that. He was realizing that he was never happy with that life, something always missing. A family. Fulfillment. Happiness.

He wrung out the rag and held it over his face, determined to snap himself out of those thoughts. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes under the rag, letting the heat soothe his tense muscles in his face. The door flew open, causing him to snap forward, the cloth dropping in the sink and he spun around to see Sara closing the gap between them. Her little fleece jacket was gone, she was clad only in a small red tee shirt clinging to all of her curves, and a pair of black leggings. Her auburn hair was down, no longer in its usual ponytail, bouncing with every step she took. In two seconds flat, she was inches from him, staring into his eyes, her hands roaming over the intricate artwork covering his torso. Her fingers flicked over one of his nipples, drawing a deep sigh from him as he cupped her face in his hands, bending his head to capture her lips with his. He could taste her passion, her desire, her lust. He ached to satisfy her in every way she deemed fit, to take away every ounce of pain that he and anyone else had ever caused her. His fingers danced lightly across her ribcage, down her sides, until they rested on her hips, pulling her closer, wanting to feel every contour of her body pressed against him. Her hands were on his back now, her fingers digging into his flesh as he caused moans to escape her lips. Even as she was so caught up in the moment, in him, she was ever so careful not to touch his burn, avoiding everything she could that would risk ending their encounter in the bathroom, which was being overrun with more steam as each second passed. She allowed her fingers to dance on the nape of his neck as she drew his head closer, deepening the kiss, parting her lips slightly. His tongue crept inside her mouth, finding hers, his passion evident. She let her teeth close softly on his tongue, drawing another moan from deep inside him, turning her on even more. His fingers roamed freely down over her buttocks until his hands were on the back of her thighs, enabling him to pick her up and spin around, sitting her on the ledge of the sink. She was thankful for the gesture, unsure of how much longer her legs would've been able to hold her up. His head was now tilted up for the kiss, her forehead resting against his, damp strands of her hair brushing against his face now and then. His fingers were now free to creep under the hem of her shirt, raising it with extremely slow excruciation, much slower than she preferred. The fabric now left her light purple lace bra exposed, her naturally pale skin becoming flushed from the heat, her nipples hardening at the thought of everything that was about to come, including herself. After all of the trials and tribulations life had thrown at her, she was finally being rewarded with the ultimate form of payback. Completion. She was sharing a moment with the man she loved, a moment which she ultimately knew was the best one she'd had in her life thus far. His finger slid under the left strap of her bra, sliding it down so he could kiss her shoulder, moving across to her neck, and over to her other shoulder, sliding that strap down, also. She now had to lean her head back, the pleasure becoming overwhelming, the simple touch of his skin on hers enough to drive her wild, out of her mind. She found that she could lean back and rest her head against the mirrored medicine cabinet, only further aiding her in the support department. Lord knows she was going to need all the help she could get with that, Michael's lips now kissing her abdomen, his tongue flicking the skin near her navel. She gently laid her hands on the back of his head, not having anywhere else to put them, instead letting his head guide them. Her breathing had become rapid, and now short, ragged breaths somehow managed to escape her throat. Her eyes were closed against the light above, even though the bulb wasn't visible through the steam, the light still shone brightly. The sheer essence of the moment made his toes burn, his head spin.

"Michael…" Her voice was a breathless plea, a weak whisper.

"Sara." He replied to her in between kisses, trailing back up her side. Her words echoed in his head, becoming louder.

"Michael…" His eyes snapped open as he heard her again. "Michael?" It was more of a question now. There was a knock on the door, and he spun around, realizing that his washcloth had stopped up the sink, the hot water overflowing, scalding his feet. He shut the water off quickly.

"Yeah?"

"I heard water hitting the floor. Is everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, still trying to recover from his fantasy. "Never dozed off standing up before. I'll be out in a minute.

"Okay…" Her words were soft, sounding like she wanted to say something more, the concern being evident in her voice.

He plunged his hand in the sink and grabbed the rag, setting out to finish up. The cloth was steaming, opening up all of his pores as he started cleaning himself to the best of his ability. He had to turn around and crane his neck to look in the mirror to wash around the burn, a task which proved to be a feat in itself. He furiously tried to scrub off his tattoos, his scars that reminded him that the past was real, reminded him off all the sacrifices he made for his plan, of all the lives altered for the worse, his included. In the end, the ink remained, his skin being rubbed raw, near bleeding as he towel dried whatever moisture was left on his body. He ripped the price tag and stickers off his pants, sliding them on over his boxers. He cursed himself for forgetting to have Veronica buy them new underwear, this prison garb wasn't going to cut it. He sighed heavily as he cracked the door, steam flooding out into the room, only Sucre and Sara in close proximity.

"Hey, uh, Sucre. Can you grab that bag there and come wrap up my burn?"

"I would, papi, but I don't think I'd be of much help," he lifted his injured arm a little, showing his limited range of motion.

"Oh. Yeah, don't worry about it, I got it," he said, walking over and grabbing the bag with the gauze and antibiotics.

"Michael, did you forget there's a doctor here?" Sucre immediately wished he hadn't said anything, his face turning red as he turned towards Sara. "I--I'm sorry, I didn't mean to volunteer you, just used to the prison and everything." He quickly shut his mouth and lowered his head, Sara letting out a soft laugh.

"It's okay." She turned her attention to Michael. "I can help you with that, if you want." He froze, bag in hand, and glanced around the room, hoping to find something to save him. Finding nothing, he agreed.

"If you don't mind."

She followed him into the bathroom which was now almost empty of the steam which had been there moments earlier. Surfaces were still moist, the mirror still fogged over, but the visibility was fine. He braced himself against the sink again, partially because he knew bandaging the wound would hurt, and because of his fantasy about the woman who was standing behind him, her fingers graciously grazing his back as she applied the medicated gauze pad, taping all the sides. She noticed that Sucre was occupied with news reports again, and seized the opportunity to speak.

"Are you sure you're alright, Michael? I mean, people don't usually fall asleep standing up." There was an overwhelming amount of genuine concern in her voice, making his heart cringe at the guilt he felt.

"I'm, uh, yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, I guess." Sara could sense that something else was going on with him, but decided not to push the issue.

"Alright then." He could tell she didn't believe him, and he knew she probably wouldn't. She'd been the only one who had ever been able to see through any facade he put up. "All finished," she said, walking out of the bathroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He took his dirty clothes and spread them over the puddle of the floor, trying to dry the wet tile. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he slid on his dirty socks and his new green long sleeve cotton tee, enjoying the warmth it brought him, despite the high temperature in the steamy bathroom. He placed his head in his hands, trying to remember his dream as vividly as possible, aching to recall the feel of her flushed skin against his lips, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her moans…


	11. Confessions

**Author's Note: **I found this chapter to be somewhat of a bore, but I think it was required to drive the plot. As always, reviews are encouraged and greatly appreciated. 

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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He bent down and picked up his shoes as he stood up, sliding his dirty and now wet clothes off to the far corner, under the sink, with his foot. When he stepped out of the bathroom, he had a view of everyone except Sara. Abruzzi and Sucre were in the other room, Veronica and Lincoln sitting on the bed that was apparently proclaimed as theirs, talking quietly. Everyone seemed to have had their showers already, wet hair and the smell of generic soap wafting through the room. Veronica looked up at him as he placed his shoes under the table and smiled. It threw him off guard, but he returned it, not sure what caused her to do it.

"Hell, maybe she's just happy to see me," he thought to himself. He was still looking at her, and saw her excuse herself from the conversation to come over to him. She playfully pulled at the front of his shirt as she brushed past him.

"Sara picked out that outfit," she whispered with a grin, continuing to the bathroom without stopping. He thought back to how the shirt covered him with warmth in the bathroom, but immediately dismissed the thought as illogical. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before exhaling it as a long sigh. He had recently begun to really question his sanity, then realized that there was no doubt in his mind that he wasn't all there.

"I robbed a bank so I could break out of prison," he thought cynically. He had a feeling that he wasn't the only one battling inner demons, the prospect being shared by his brother, and probably everyone else in these two rooms, but it was still a hell of a load to bear.

"You okay, Mike?" He shook his head free of thoughts, trying to focus on one thing at a time.

"Yeah, zoning out again, I guess. Where's Sara?"

Lincoln tilted his head towards the other bathroom. "Shower."

The thought of the hot water trickling down her soft, insipid skin was enough to put his hormones in overdrive, his dream coming back in one big whoosh. He should've known from the beginning that it wasn't real, Sara wasn't the type who barged into a bathroom unannounced, but he was stunned with the sheer magnificence of what was happening, wishing it to be tangible.

He looked around him, checking that no one was listening to them. "I need to talk to her, Linc. About everything."

Lincoln nodded somberly, fully understanding his brother's situation. He heard the toilet flush, and leaned in to offer some reassurance. "I got it covered, Mike. Sit down. Relax." He smiled over Michael's shoulder at Veronica, walking over to offer a kiss, a just-because gesture.

Michael ambled over to his bed, the bed he'd hopefully been forced into sharing with Sara, thankful he didn't have to bring up the idea. He counted on the fact that she'd sleep there willingly, after the talk he had with her. After he stopped trying to keep everything bottled up inside him.

Sometime while he was lost in thought, Sara had entered as Lincoln and Veronica exited, softly shutting the door behind them, leaving him in complete seclusion with the prison doctor. She was wearing a pair of tight blue jeans, flared at the legs, along with a thick, green turtleneck. God, she looked exquisite.

"We need to talk, Sara. About everything."

She proceeded towards him slowly, a look of confusion on her face as she sat down on the other bed, facing him, a mere two feet between them. Her eyes searched his, desperate to find a hint of what was going on in his head, finding nothing. "Alright," she said, trying to keep her voice steady and calm. "Let's talk."

He carefully scrunched his sleeves up past his elbows, revealing his tattoos to her. "Do you see these?" He wanted to stay calm, and had to whisper just to avoid breaking down. "Inside these pictures, these designs, are the blueprints to Fox River. Inside is every important detail of my plan to rescue my brother, and to keep him safe.

She just stared at him, already being overwhelmed with shock.

"That's how I knew how to find you, during the riot. I saw you on that monitor, and I dashed to you as quickly as I could."

"Oh, of course. I forgot. You couldn't let a vital piece of your plan be killed by raging psychopaths." Her voice was filled with pained emotions, finally piecing together his motives behind his actions that day.

"That's not why I did it, Sara. At all. I saw you there, frightened beyond reason, and that's when I first knew that I loved you."

She could no longer control herself, her silent tears now flowing freely down her cheeks, leaving trails of moisture on her skin.

"I scolded myself repeatedly, knowing I needed to walk away from you, to forget everything, to keep you safe. I couldn't do it." He leaned across the gap and brushed away one of her tears with the back of his index finger. "Now I'm protecting you, just like I'm protecting Lincoln."

She allowed her eyes to drift up and seize his, holding them, an electric current flowing between them, containing too many emotions. "What do you want from me, Michael?" He had to strain to hear her, the words being an octave below a whisper.

His eyes searched hers, then dropped the ground, around the room, before finally capturing hers again. "Your trust." He offered a weak smile. "Just have a little faith, Sara."

She took his left hand in her right, squeezing it softly as she closed the gap of mere inches between their faces. "I love you, Michael, since you risked a bullet in your chest to keep me safe during the riot." She drew him in for a passionate kiss, deeper than any of the others. "There's a McDonald's on the end of the block, 601." She nodded her head towards the adjoining room. "I bet they'd love some greasy fast food."

Michael let out a laugh, nodding in agreement. "I'll get Veronica." He placed another kiss on her lips, and one on the back of her right hand, which was still holding his left. "I love you."

She just smiled and followed him with her eyes as he went to the door and opened it, signaling it was okay for them to come in again.

"Hey, V, can you and Sara run out and grab us all some burgers and fries?"

The randomness of the question caught her off guard, but she quickly recovered, knowing everyone must be starved. "Sure, no problem." She grabbed the keys off of the nightstand and they were gone.

"Abruzzi and Sucre are sleeping like logs," Lincoln said, not really talking to Michael, but not himself, either, just leaving the statement in the air.

"LJ's gonna be fine, Linc. I promise." His brother stared at him for long moment before letting out a sigh.

"Yeah, I know, Mike. He'll be fine, thanks to you."

Michael decided to change the subject. "I guess Tweener's gonna be in for a surprise when he gets to Tooele, Utah."

It worked. Lincoln let out a hearty laugh at the misfortune of the kid that ratted them out to Bellick, about the hole in the break room.

"Up to seeing what they're saying about us on the news?" Michael knew full well that his brother enjoyed seeing how the media attempted to portray him in the worse light possible.

"Damn right I do, Mike," he said, flipping on the TV.

_"We have a couple of new updates in regards to this whole Fox River escape ordeal. First off, Nick Savrinn, one of the defense attorneys for Lincoln Burrows, was found dead in his home, along with his father this morning. Charles "Haywire" Patoshik was apprehended at a local Baskin Robins, putting up absolutely no struggle, just begging to finish his ice cream. Details on both of these stories and more, coming up at ten. Now we've got Leah for your traffic report…"_

_Click._

"Maybe we're not important enough to make midday news out here," Lincoln said, laughing at his frivolous comment.

"Population, three thousand ninety six. Go figure."

"Ah, I need a beer or two. Maybe seven."

Michael grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and tossed it at Lincoln. "Call Sara, tell them to stop at the gas station and pick up a couple twelve packs."

Lincoln stared at the phone, then at his brother. "You got the Doc's number?"

"Have to be prepared. Veronica got it for me from her phone after she shot the video of Steadman."

"Whatever you say, bro," he said, playfully rubbing his brother's head while he waited for Sara to pick up.

The call was short, Lincoln sounding massively awkward trying to sound polite.

"They'll be here in a few minutes, beer and greasy cheeseburgers."

Michael nodded and opened the door to the adjoining room. "Get up. Fast food and alcohol."

Abruzzi and Sucre almost bolted out of the beds, stumbling over their own feet as they scrambled to what was pretty much the main room.

"What's the big deal, Fish? I don't see anything new here."

"It's on its way, John, calm down."

Abruzzi grumbled as he sat down in a chair, aggravated that he had to miss a couple minutes of sleep.

The phone sitting on the bed sprung to life, it's shrill ring piercing the air.

"Hello?"

"Yes. I'd like to have a word with a John Abruzzi."

"One moment." Michael held the phone away. "John, phone call."

"Hello?"

"How's it going, John? Been well?"

"What do you want, Falzone?"

"I think we both know what I want. Fibonacci. Tonight. Or you're a dead man."

Click.

Abruzzi's face was a ghostly white, the phone at his side, his eyes transfixed on nothingness.

"Anything you'd care to share with the rest of us?"

"It's, uh, nothing, Fish."

"Nothing doesn't make you turn white as a sheet, John."

"It's Falzone. He wants Fibonacci or…" He cleared his throat, regaining composure. "Or me."

The four of them sat in silence, all of their faces showing identical expressions of concern and thought.

"It doesn't look like you've got many options, because I've told you, I'm not giving you Fibonacci. You can either stay with us like a sitting duck, risk your life along with your freedom, or you can try to hide, wait until the trial."

"I dunno, Fish, I dunno anymore. Is it okay if I make another call?"

"Be my guest."

Abruzzi stared at the keypad for a moment, as if he was remembering the number. The conversation was short, but everyone knew that he planned on leaving, and he planned on doing it before sundown.

He hung up the phone and set it on the table, standing up and walking towards Michael. "Well. Mr. Michael Scofield. I feel obliged to offer you my gratitude for getting me outta that hole."

"It would've been hard to get this far without your connections, John."

Abruzzi laughed a small laugh, not finding too much humor in Michael's honesty. "Sorry about your toes, it was just business."

"Don't worry about it, I don't miss them that much anymore."

Michael was standing now, too, and was surprised to see Abruzzi extend his hand. The handshake was firm, a gesture of understanding and appreciation.

"Good luck," he said, more to everyone than just Michael.

"You, too, John. Stay low."

"Oh, I will, Fish, count on that."

As Abruzzi was finishing his sentence, there was a knock on the door, freezing everyone in their place before common sense kicked in, driving them into hiding in the bathrooms and other room.

Michael slowly crept towards the door, keeping his steps lighter than a feather, holding his breath as he peered through the eyehole.

Noticing who it was, he threw open the door, his frustration mounting, eliminating every drop of fear.

"Jesus Christ, V, ever heard of saying something when you knock?"

Veronica's face was lit up, looking like she just pulled off the biggest prank of the century. "We just wanted to make sure you guys were on edge," she said, putting on her best puppy dog face, trying to make her eyes look innocent. Behind her, Sara was doing her best not to crack up at Veronica's act.

"Good," Michael thought to himself with a smile. "At least she's finally relaxing."

"Are you gonna let us in, Mike? Or would you like us to hold up signs out here, letting everyone know we're here?"

"Sorry," he said, stepping to the side. It was all he could manage. He was too caught up in the setting sun glimmering off of Sara's features, further enhancing her high cheekbones, giving her tender skin a radiant glow. Thoughts of his earlier dream came rushing back to him in a tidal wave of pleasure, how the skin of her neck tasted against his lips, the softness of her flesh beneath his fingertips, the way she sighed his name, barely audible.

"Michael…" He remembered it perfectly, her damp hair matted to the side of her face from the humidity of the steam.

"Michael…" There it was again. "Michael, do you plan on closing the door?"

He whizzed back to reality, noticing he was standing in the doorway, his eyes prying at every inch of Sara's body.

"Sorry." He repeated his previous words, deciding he needed to expand his vocabulary sometime soon. Breaking his gaze from her, he noticed all eyes were on him, and he felt a fiery blush creeping into his cheeks, causing him to bow his head and grab a beer.

Everyone followed suit, and Michael continued concentrating on Sara. Her first gulp of the cheap beer was a long one, her head tilted back, his eyes fixed on how her throat looked as she swallowed the bitter sweet liquid. He felt an erection begin to form and scolded himself, forcing his mind to think about something, anything, except how amazing she looked, how her clothes clung to every one of her luscious curves, begging to be caressed. He had to grip his bottle with both hands to keep from doing just that, and try not to shatter the bottle within his grasp. It was a task that proved to be more difficult than most things he'd ever done.

"Can I keep this backpack, Fish?"

He was once again forced back to reality. "I insist," he said, wanting to go back to concentrating on the woman across the room.

"Thanks again." He finished his beer in a deep swallow, setting the empty bottle on top of the mini fridge.

Everyone raised their bottles in a toast. "To freedom," Sucre declared.

"To freedom!"

John left, laughing as he shut the door, reducing the number of occupants to five.

"My own room!" Sucre was ecstatic, the alcohol doing a number for his spirit.

"Not so fast, Sucre. Me and Veronica are gonna be bunking in there with you, I'm pretty sure Mike and the Doc need two beds."

Sucre seemed to have a moment of disappointment, but it was gone quicker than it came. "Linc the Sink is gonna be my new celly!"

No one could stop a laugh from escaping, clearing enjoying the humor Sucre brought the table after a beer and a half. While everyone was still laughing, Michael exchanged glances with Sara, trying to search her eyes for a hint of what was to come, if she was going to sleep on the other bed. He was unsuccessful, but he did manage to see something, there was something familiar in her look.

They all sat around and talked and drank, Michael doing the best to simply answers questions, trying to figure out where he'd seen that look before. He stayed focused on Sara, watching her chest rise slightly as she inhaled, then returned to its resting place when she exhaled.

"The dream…" He mumbled, abruptly stopping the conversation that was going on around him.

"What'd you say?" Lincoln was looking at him like he was crazy.

"Huh?"

"You mumbled something."

He paused, as if he was pondering his brother's statement. "Maybe I'm crazy."

The conversation picked back up, leaving him alone with his thoughts again. The look in her eyes, it was the one from the dream, when he was leaving light kisses on her shoulders and neck. He remembered how disappointed he'd been once he realized it was only a dream, after the initial shock had passed, feeling guilty as he tried to deny how strong his concern for her was.

The burgers and fries had been devoured in no time, leaving everyone feeling like they were about to explode. There's always room for beer, though, no matter how full you get. It was one of life's many mysteries, but not one that many people argued with. All twenty four beers were gone within three hours of conversation, Lincoln and Sucre drinking most of it.

"We need to get you to bed, Lincoln," Veronica said, almost in a motherly tone to the grown man. "Who knows, you may even have a little surprise." She winked at him and stood up, Lincoln hot on her trail, stumbling back and forth as he tried to stay behind her, falling on the bed twice before he made it in the other room.

"I need to get some sleep, too. Sobering up's no fun when you're still awake, papi." Michael nodded, offering a smile to his intoxicated friend. "Thanks again, for everything." Sucre grabbed him in a one-armed bear hug, the overwhelming smell of alcohol doing a number on Michael's nostrils, causing him to make a face that Sara apparently found quite amusing.

A minute later, Sucre was gone, the door closed, leaving the two of them alone.

"I'll let you get some sleep, Sara. You must be exhausted."

"Actually, not really, I'm more giddy than anything. You can go to sleep if you want, it's no big deal."

"Not tired," he said with a smile.

"Feel like talking?"

He was quiet, a silent debate waging war in his head. "I dreamed about you."

"Excuse me?"

"This afternoon, in the bathroom. I dreamed about you."

"What was it about?" She seemed genuinely interested, and it was the only reason he answered her.

"It was our souls finally uniting as one. Well, until I woke up." He cast a playfully accusing glance at her.

"I'd like to hear all about it, if you don't mind…"


	12. Together

**Author's Note: **I apologize for the length of this chapter, but I'm getting ready to leave, and wanted to leave you guys with something to read this weekend. I might redo it, let me know if I should. Until then, blame Thomas :-D. 

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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"I'm not sure I could remember it exactly." He looked away sheepishly before continuing. "I've been trying." Sara's succulent lips turned into a smile, enjoying how tense he was, thinking she might have to massage some kinks out of his neck and shoulders sometime soon.

"Then just tell me what you remember." God, she wasn't gonna give up on this one.

Giving in, he launched into his recollection of the dream in surprisingly vivid detail, some parts so sensual they caused her to cross her legs, afraid that he could see the passion burning deep within her. By the time he was finished, it was her cheeks, not his, that were flushed red with embarrassment.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat, "It sounds like you were having quite a dream. Now I'm kind of disappointed that I cut it short, it sounds like it was getting good."

He laughed quietly, wrapping his arm around her and edging her closer until her head was resting on his shoulder. "Sara, I--."

"I know, Michael. I know." They sat in silence, enjoying the feel of being that close to the other, so many unspoken words traveling between them.

Michael leaned over and using his free hand, switched on the clock radio, finding a soft rock station. "May I be as honored as to have this dance?" He asked, dimming the light in between the beds.

"I thought you'd never ask." They stood up and swayed against the light sounds, their bodies pressed close together, her head on his shoulder, his head resting gently on top of hers.

"Perfect," he sighed into her hair, inhaling her scent. Even with cheap motel shampoo, she still managed to smell fantastic. Despite the layers of clothes between them, she still melted into him, every curve of her petite body conforming to his, making both of them feel like one person, a complete person.

They danced through song after song, commercial after commercial, swaying more to their breaths and heartbeats than to the sounds coming from the radio.

It was nearly pitch black in the small room but it didn't matter, they stayed and swayed in a tight circle, their eyes drooping from the lack of sleep.

"I need you, Michael…" Her whisper trailed off into the darkness while the words echoed in his head. He carefully eased her backwards until the backs of her knees were pressed against the mattress, and leaned her backwards gently. He was propped up on one arm next to her, his fingers tracing the lines of her features, barely touching her. He could've swore he heard her try to muffle a whimper a couple of times, but he continued his handy work, desperate to make her sounds audible.

It didn't take long for that to happen as he dipped his head low and devoured her neck, drawing a sharp gasp and a low moan from deep in her throat. She arched her head back and to the side, giving him full access to her, digging her fingers into his shoulder.

He pulled the neck of her sweater down slightly, allowing him to nibble and blow on the hollow of her throat, causing her toes to curl up and grind themselves into the grimy carpet. She broke away from his shoulder and dug her fingers into the thin comforter as his hand caressed her from her cheek down to her inner thigh, his lips still doing a number on her neck.

The ecstasy was overwhelming, her loins aching to be rid of the denim and satin that covered her most intimate secrets. Her nipples were begging for attention, apparently noticeable even through her sweater, because Michael removed his hand from her southern region and ran the pad of his thumb in circles on one of her rigid nipples before moving to the other, relishing the prodigious pleasure on her face. Her head was back, her eyes were closed, slightly squinted, her mouth open, inhaling short, frequent gasps of oxygen.

He moved from the bed to the floor, on his knees in front of her, her legs on either side of him. He caressed the outsides of her legs up to the snap of her jeans, taking extra long to release it, the sound of it being music to his ears. He tugged on the zipper, and finally lowering it all the way, dipped his fingers into the waist of her jeans and pulled. She had to arch her back up in order for the pants to slide off of her hips and over her backside before she could lay flat again, thankful for the support.

With her jeans on the floor behind him, he placed his lips next to her knee and kissed his way up to where her thigh met her pelvis, skipping over the white satin in the middle, and trailing kisses back down, determined to make this perfect for her, determined to make it last. This wasn't going to be a night for reciprocation, this encounter was to be all about Sara, meeting every one of her needs, even if it meant torturing himself in the process.

When his eyes met hers again, she had already shed her sweater and was propped up on both of her elbows, leaving her clad in only two small scraps of white satin, the ultimate symbol of purity. Her ample breasts heaved under the fabric, in sync with her erratic breaths, her whole body seeming to shake. The satin was taut, her nipples stretching it out, urging him to send more shivers and shudders through her body, to leave her in a euphoric earthquake of pleasure, an understatement of what he intended to do.

He eased her to her side a little and unsnapped her bra, gingerly sliding it off where it joined her jeans, marveling at the sight that lay before him. He teased her nipples with his fingers and mouth and tongue until the last scrap of fabric was drenched with moisture, giving him the signal that she was now prepped and ready. He achingly slowly stripped it off her, followed by his clothes, before poising himself between her legs and delving into the point of the no return, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

"I love you, Sara…"


	13. Addition

**Author's Note: **Not as long as I hoped, but it's not too short. Let me know your thoughts.

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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Those four words echoed endlessly off the walls in her mind, they were the only thing she could concentrate on as she felt him at her entrance, slowly easing her open, making himself a path to follow.

Michael laid silently with Sara cuddled up against him, watching the numbers on the clock as the night crept by, accompanied by her deep, steady breaths. He thought about how his dream didn't even come close to comparing to the real thing, about how intense the actual lovemaking had been. He'd nearly killed himself trying to keep a slow, even pace, but he somehow managed to keep himself in control, to make the whole experience as nice for Sara as he could. From the time he laid her on the bed up until the time she had fallen asleep next to him, it had been two and a half excruciating hours of nearly unbearable passion and pleasure. Little had been spoken, each of them knowing that nothing they said could compare to the beauty of what was happening, so they seized the opportunity to study every part of the other, first with their eyes, then with their hands, and finally with their mouths.

It was morning now, the clock said so, but it was still dark in the room, only a scarce amount of the morning sun making it through the heavy drapes. They had somehow managed to overcome the exhaustion and get dressed, not wanting the others to see them naked in bed together. As if on cue, the door eased open, Lincoln's head peeking out, surveying the sight in front of him. He smiled as he grabbed a paper cup and headed to the bathroom, filling it with water after he did his morning business.

He sat down at the table and fidgeted with his empty cup as Michael approached and joined him.

"Sleep well?"

"Like a light, Mike," he said, speaking about the booze, the clean bed, and Veronica next to him. "Looks light your night wasn't bad."

Michael didn't say anything to that, he just stared at the cup in his brother's hand. "We're leaving Utah. Soon. We have to keep the plan moving, before anyone catches on. The sooner we're in Panama, the better."

Lincoln nodded, but Michael saw a heap of mixed emotions in his brother's face, being faintly lit by the light he left on in the bathroom. He wanted to reach out, to say something, but he couldn't. Comforting people was never his thing, he always worsened the situation by trying to be there for someone, so he instead perfected the art of getting things done, of being meticulous about everything.

They heard a soft thud in the other room, followed by Sucre's silhouette in the doorway. He walked over and took a seat. "Sorry about that, I kicked the hell outta that door frame."

Lincoln let out a soft laugh which was cut short, seeing that the noise had woke Veronica. Even just waking up, probably with a hangover (she was never much of a drinker), she looked fantastic, and the sight of her rubbing the remaining bits of sleep from her eyes filled him with warmth. He hadn't even had a chance to kiss her goodnight, he was asleep before he ever laid down. He took the opportunity and stood up, giving her a kiss, tasting the cottonmouth she was experiencing before easing her into his chair.

General conversations began, it was inevitable with four of them awake and restless, and it wasn't long before Sara was awake and comfortably joined in with the talks. Her and Sucre felt sort of like outsiders whenever someone told a story about the past, neither of them able to reminisce about the events from years passed. They were still content with listening to the stories, though, and happy talking about the future, all of them avoiding conversations about Fox River for obvious reasons.

Veronica had just finished a story about how scared Michael was the first time they went in a canoe without lifejackets, the room thundering with laughter, mostly Lincoln and Sucre's.

"Sucre, get dressed, we've got something to do." Sucre did as he was told without question, but Lincoln was quick to take over.

"What do you two 'have' to do?"

"I'm taking him to see his fiancé. We're leaving as soon as we get back. The three of you need to start packing and be ready to go." He spoke clearly and decisively as he grabbed three envelopes from the pack Sara and Veronica had bought the day before, along with a pen. He pulled a postcard from his pocket and copied the destination address on all of the envelopes, making sure each one was legible before grabbing one of the duffel bags. He swiftly counted out $100,000 and divided it into the envelopes, sealing them and stuffing them back in his inside pocket, along with the postcard.

"What's that for, Mike?"

"C-Note's wife and little girl. I didn't like him, and I didn't need him for the plan, but they're gonna need this money now, to cover last minute expenses."

Everyone nodded solemnly, understanding Michael's reasoning, but still opposed to him leaving.

"You shouldn't go, not just the two of you. It's dangerous. What if you get caught?" The concern was clear in Veronica's voice, but he had to stand his ground.

"Lincoln knows enough of the plan to keep everyone safe." He leaned in towards his brother, using a hug to secretly whisper in his ear. "Take care of Veronica and Sara, Linc, especially if…" He took a deep breath and finished his sentence in a sigh. "Especially if anything happens." He broke the hug and addressed everyone as Sucre emerged, dressed in the outfit he put on after his shower. "We'll be back, tonight at the very latest." He went to shut the door behind him, but it stopped in it's tracks. He spun around in confusion and saw that Sara had grabbed the handle with an unusually strong grip. He always knew she was mentally tough, but this proved that she was physically tough as well. She leaned into him, gingerly brushing his lips with hers.

"Be careful, Michael." He nodded and took a step back, watching her shut the door. Once in the car, Sucre started conversing with him.

"You love her, papi." It was more of a statement than a question. Was it that obvious? Couldn't she just be concerned with his well-being? He decided to ignore the question, finding it better to leave that subject alone for now.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Stiff and sore, but it's there. Getting dressed was rough, but I think I managed alright."

Michael gave a slight smile and nodded, waiting a minute before getting to business, extracting all the information that he could about both Maricruz and Hector, sending Sucre into a long story about everything.

He produced a switchblade with four inches of serrated steel as he finished his tale. "I swear to God, bro, if he's done anything to my girl, anything at all, I'm gonna be leaving him picking his intestines up off the floor. Same thing if he tries something to jeopardize my freedom, our freedom," he said, putting emphasis on "our".

Ignoring Sucre's heated death threats, Michael proceeds with a different question. "Where'd you get the knife?"

"I found it, it was in the drawer next to my bed, I found it when I was getting dressed this morning. She's a beauty, ain't she?" It was rhetorical. "Ay, can I use a phone, papi?" Michael hands him one of the prepaid cell phones that was bought and listened to the conversation.

"Carlos, it's me. Yeah, Sucre. Look, I need you to go talk to Maricruz, bring her to your place, make up any excuse. What? No, no, no, no! Dammit, where is she? Huh? Where's that?"

Click.

"She's getting married to Hector, tomorrow."

As usual, Michael could think of nothing comforting to say. "I'm sorry."

"She's at some dress shop, here in Montana. It's my only chance, papi."

Michael punched in the number for one of the other cells, and spoke rapidly when Veronica picked up the phone. He asked her to get online with her laptop and find directions to the dress shop, thanked her and hung up. "We'll be there in an hour."

Sucre's eyes lit up at the convenience, but he continued caressing the closed knife, the joy in his eyes being replaced by hatred and vengeance.

When they turned on to the right street, Sucre was still rubbing the knife.

"We're going to make a couple passes, make sure nothing suspicious is around, and to get a feel of the area." Sucre nodded as he slipped the knife into his pocket. After they turned around and were coming back, Sucre spotted Hector's car at the far end of the long parking lot, and Michael turned and backed into a vacant space in the middle. "We wait here, for her to come out. We don't need to be recognized by anyone in that shop."

Sucre nods understandingly and bites his bottom lip, the nervousness making him insane.

Only a short time afterwards, they were rewarded with Maricruz walking out of the shop, a look on her face that neither of them could quite put their finger on. Now she was a mere ten feet away at the most, and still hadn't spotted them. Sucre hurriedly rolled down his window and called out her name in a loud whisper. Her head jerked in their direction, her face filling with a myriad of emotions once recognition set in, and she slowly made her way to the car, cautiously looking around her.

"You can't do this, baby girl, you can't marry Hector. Everything's all worked out, mami, we can disappear and start over, we can live happily ever after. I've got money, a lot of money, enough to get us brand new lives somewhere, someplace where we can leave all of this behind us." He could sense the fear and concern and love in her face, and decided to try a different approach. "No more knocking over liquor stores, Scout's Honor." The smallest of smiles tugged at her lips and for that moment, every problem was gone until Sucre noticed a patrol car creep slowly down the road, his eyes widening in terror when the cop looked at them, his eyes showing a too-familiar look. Recognition. He mumbled obsceneties under his breath, wishing the cop to keep driving to no avail. "Son of a bitch, Michael, son of a bitch." His voice was overcome with panic, but Michael was more interested in watching Maricruz approach the officer that had begun to come towards them on foot, gun drawn.

"Freeze right there, ma'am!" He bellowed, knowing good and well he wasn't going to shoot an unarmed woman, nor was he going to shoot two of the most wanted men in America without absolute necessity. She continued towards him, her hips swinging flirtatiously, her face probably turned into a seductive look. Michael and Sucre could tell the cop was a rookie, but he could still be an issue.

Maricruz caught everyone off guard as she grabbed the officer's shoulders with both hands for leverage, and reared her knee directly into his groin, sending him doubling over to the ground, and her running to their car as fast as her heels would take her.

"Vamanos! Let's go!" She shouted as she flung open the back door and jumped inside…


	14. Freedom

**Author's Note: **Well, here it is. The accumulation of almost a month of writing, and we have my first fanfic, in it's entirety. It's the longest chapter so far, and I'll be working on it's sequel now, so don't be disappointed. Read it and let me know how you liked it. Thanks to everyone who's followed it and given me words of encouragement, it wouldn't be finished without you guys!

**Disclaimer: **I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. _Prison Break _and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.

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The gas pedal was pressed to the floor, the only thought in Michael's head being that this whole "take-it-slow" approach they had wasn't going to cut it anymore, the plan had been thrown into overdrive the second that cop noticed them. Not only that, but they were now back up to six people with no possibility of letting Maricruz go on her own. She was now a fugitive as well, whether or not anyone disagreed with it. Michael wasn't going to let another death rest on his conscience, the body count had already risen much more than he'd ever accounted for.

"You didn't need to do that. We could've played it off and kidnapped you, then let you off a little bit up the road. Now your hands are just as dirty as ours."

"I know, I'm sorry, I panicked. I love Fernando, and I know he escaped for me, and for his daughter. I didn't know what else to do." She rubbed her stomach as if she just remembered she was pregnant, apparently giving Sucre the same realization.

"Daughter?" It seemed to take him a minute to gain recognition. "It's a girl!" He was overrun with excited fear about everything that was going on, but mostly for the safety of his fiancé and his unborn daughter. "You need to be careful, you shouldn't of pulled a stunt like that, mami, not pregnant."

"I know, Fernando, I know. I'm sorry." She leaned forward and he met her halfway for a kiss, savoring the taste of her lips, a taste he hadn't had in far too long.

Michael saw an old access road that paralleled a set of railroad tracks and decided to take advantage of it to nearly double the speed limit, and to stay as far away from prying eyes as he could.

They were right outside of Cut Bank in thirty minutes, causing Michael to get back on the main road and slow down as to not to draw attention to themselves, the Super 8 coming into view. "Maricruz, when we get there, stay in the car. Sucre and myself need to go inside and get our stuff and the others, we'll be back out in a minute." She nodded and he turned his attention to his friend. "Do you feel like driving?"

"Do I feel like driving? I always feel like driving, papi."

"Good. Maricruz can ride up here with you, we don't want the baby getting squished back there with four people."

Sucre nodded appreciatively as Michael backing into the parking space in front of the room and popped the trunk.

He swiped his card in the door and threw it open, relieved to see everyone was already packed and waiting nearby. "Put everything in the trunk and pile in," he instructed, moving swiftly to gather the remaining loose ends of his supplies and belongings. By the time he was finished, he was alone in the room and pulled out two twenties and folded them, laying the bills under the keycards and taking one final glance around the room before shutting the door.

Once they were back on the interstate and headed in the right direction, Michael began acting out the next phase of the plan. "V, you can book flights online with a credit card, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't think that's a good idea, Michael. I mean, they're probably monitoring all of our credit card purchases, it'll be like giving them a map."

"Good. Do you think you can get a wireless signal out here?"

"I should be able to, if I hurry."

"Book the soonest flight to Cancun, buy six tickets, use this," he said, handing her his old credit card from before his incarceration.

"We goin' to the airport, papi?"

"Yes."

"You lost me."

"Just follow this road for now." Sucre shrugged his one good shoulder and kept driving, staying a couple miles below the speed limit.

"Done, the flight's booked. Mind telling me what's going on now?"

"Six tickets on a flight to Cancun, on my credit card," he said, speaking deliberately slow as if Veronica wouldn't understand him otherwise. "The authorities are going to be under the assumption that we're on that flight. By the time they catch that plane in Mexico, we should be in Panama. We're going to a different airport, I have a tiny plane that I paid cash for under a different name, but it's got a big tank, enough to make it to Mexico to refuel. It'll be cramped, but it'll get us in the clear for now."

"You're a crazy son of a bitch, Mike, you know that?"

"You're not dead yet, are you?"

"Point taken." Lincoln rarely spoke anymore, and when he did, it was as limited as possible, just enough to get his point across. He was always like that, ever since he was doing a weekend in the county jail for obstruction of justice and realized he loved Veronica. He got out that Monday afternoon only to find that Veronica had already left for law school, not being able to take all the distance Lincoln had purposely put in between them. He'd never allowed forgiveness for himself, and it took its toll on him every day. Ever since the first day LJ had come to visit him in Fox River he'd almost constantly thought about how much of a father he'd never been to his son, much like how his own father was.

"We're gonna get LJ out of there, Lincoln." Damn it, Veronica had perfected her mind-reading skills since they last spoke. She placed her hand on top of his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He just nodded, his overflow of emotions were choking the words in his throat.

It was surprising how the drive to the airport and the flight to Panama had been near silent, and even more surprising that they weren't recognized by anyone, but everyone seemed a little more at ease. That is, everyone except Michael. He was always too busy going over the next step in his mind to take the time to just enjoy the freedom he had, the freedom that he didn't know how long it'd last.

Down in Panama at the house Michael had bought, the sun would be setting in about an hour, and they took the opportunity to sit on the back porch and watch the ocean, absorb all of it's peacefulness.

"V. You sent that video, right?"

"I did, back in Cut Bank. I sent it to my laptop and forwarded it on. They'll have to run a video analysis on it, make sure it wasn't tampered with. I keep checking my e-mail account from the new phone, see if I have a reply yet. Lincoln should be in the clear in no time, so should LJ."

"Good. When that happens, Linc, I'll put you on a plane back to the states and you can pick up LJ. You can either come back down here, if you want, or you can stay up there. It's up to you."

Lincoln nodded his agreement as he raised the near-empty bottle of beer to his lips, squinting against the setting sun, watching the waves lap at the shore.

"I'll go with you, Lincoln. I mean, some things might be easier with LJ and all if there was a woman there."

Once again, Lincoln responded with a solemn nod, reassuring everyone's thoughts that he wasn't going to rest easy until his son was in the clear.

Michael's head was once again reeling with thoughts, trying to anticipate what to do about Sucre and Maricruz. Unlike Lincoln's innocence, Sucre had actually robbed that liquor store and broke out of prison, and Maricruz had actually assaulted a police officer and was on the run with fugitives.

Sara…

That was another story altogether. Things wouldn't be as bad for her, though. She had been given a mandatory one month leave from Fox River without pay, and, with the help of her influential father, was able to make the authorities believe she left the door open because of the morphine.­ She had told her father she was going to use the "vacation" to go to a cabin out by a lake that they used to go to when she was a kid, and promised to be back in two weeks and start daily rehab meetings. She'd made it abundantly clear that she wanted to be left alone, and that if she was bothered, she wouldn't attend her rehab meetings. Her father had eagerly agreed, not even slightly disappointed by the fact that she wouldn't be attending his ceremony when he was "officially" named the Vice President of the United States. As much as it hurt him to do it, Michael decided he'd have to have her back in Illinois soon, let her move on with her life, do what she needed to do. It wasn't a concept he was particularly fond of, but he knew it had to be done to ensure she kept her freedom.

Everyone could be in the clear except Sucre and Maricruz aside from himself. He'd let his friend and soon-to-be wife stay at the house in Panama if they wanted to, not wanting to put them on the streets as he went to turn himself in. Veronica was a hell of an attorney, even if she was just a real estate lawyer, and had insisted that she'd represent him after she'd given up on persuading him to stay in Panama.

"I'll be back," was his response, and it was the truth. He planned on coming back to Panama as soon as he was released from whatever prison he was sentenced to. The New York Times website had said that aside from "the brothers and Fernando Sucre", the only remaining convict at large was T-Bag. The thought irritated Michael, but he was thankful that no one, so far, had seemed to be hurt in T-Bag's wake. He was most shocked by Abruzzi's capture, but was beginning to think he'd planned it that way. At least on the inside he had some influence and, despite the less-than-hospitable treatment from the guards, fending off any Falzone-appointed hit men would be somewhat easier than on the outside.

Drawing himself from his thoughts, he rose and grabbed the empty bottles and headed inside for refills. He was determined to make it a night of relaxation, something he hadn't gotten much of recently. The bottles clanked together as he dropped them into the trash can and turned towards the fridge, nearly jumping out of skin as he almost plowed right over Sara. He reached out and grabbed her arm to keep her from slamming onto the linoleum, muttering apologies like he'd just stumbled into the girl's locker room on accident.

"It's okay, Michael," she laughed, secretly enjoying the feel of his long, slender fingers wrapped around her bare arm. The instant he touched her she had been covered in goose bumps, and she hoped he thought they had already been there. While they knew they loved each other, she was still embarrassed by the thought of such extreme effects being brought on by the simplest touch.

"I, uh, didn't mean to, uh…Yeah, I'm sorry. Did you need something?"

A devilish grin tugged at her lips as she grabbed a hold of the front of his shirt and leaned in to kiss him. "Found it." She winked at him and started grabbing beers and handing them to him. "Don't want you carrying all of these and dropping 'em," she said.

"You're right, Lincoln might break down and cry," he said with a laugh, walking back outside with three Coronas. "Isn't that right, Linc?"

"Huh?" He seemed to genuinely think he had missed a conversation that was going on around him.

"Nothing, just making sure you're still awake," he said, watching Sara contain her laughter.

"Yeah, well not for long. This Mexican beer you got is kicking my ass, no offense, Sucre."

"None taken, papi, I'll think of it as a compliment." He stood up halfway and grabbed the bottle Michael had extended. "Guess a lightweight like you just can't hang with us big dogs."

"You're pushin' it." Lincoln's half drunk, half asleep comment sent everyone into hysterical laughter, even he was enjoying being the metaphorical butt of the joke.

The laughter had eased into a comfortable silence, everyone watching the tangerine sky as the final rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon. The house was an adequate size, but only for himself and Michael. Luckily, the sofa in the main room folded out into a bed, giving Sucre and Maricruz somewhere to sleep.

Lincoln drained the contents of his bottle in four gulps, setting it down with a satisfied sigh as he rose, almost tumbling backwards onto the table. "Whoa. Yeah, it's been a long day. Gonna come tuck me in, Veronica?"

"You bet I am. Goodnight, guys," she said, taking her beer and Lincoln into the house and down the hallway into their room. It was a narrow hallway, and he seemed to be constantly bumping off of one wall right into the other, and the mere sight of it was enough to make her laugh at him the whole way to the bed. She set her beer on the nightstand and eased him onto the bed, making sure he didn't fall over and go to sleep yet as she tugged his shirt over his head. The muscles in his arms and chest strained at the unwanted movement, sending shivers down her spine as she placed her hand on his rippled chest and gently pushed him backwards onto the pillow. She plucked off his sandals and tossed them on the floor, admiring the sight of him laying there in his tan shorts, looking as peaceful as he did when he was thirteen and the three of them had a sleepover. She remembered that night as clear as day, how she'd waited until they were asleep to prop herself up on one elbow and just stare at him, watching him sleep. She'd spent a good two hours like that, just watching him. She'd been in love with him from the moment she realized she liked boys, and he had been the only one she was truly interested in, but as he got older he seemed to distance himself from her.

"It's not your fault, Lincoln," she whispered, knowing he was already unconscious. Earlier that day, Michael had told her why Lincoln acted that way, and swore her to secrecy the same way his brother did to him before he spilled his guts. It turns out that all these years, Lincoln's been blaming himself for their mom dying, their dad leaving. He's afraid that anyone he gets close to is going to leave him, and now she was hell-bent on making sure he believed that she was sticking around as long as he'd let her. Not only for him, not only for LJ, but for herself. She needed to be near him, to have that feeling of completion, the same feeling that so many people could only dream of having. She kissed her fingers and pressed them against Lincoln's forehead, grabbing her beer and deciding to finish it with the rest of the group before heading to sleep herself.

"Hey, you came back." God, Sucre was so friendly when he was drunk.

"Yeah, Lincoln's down for the count, figured I'd finish my beer out here."

"Yeah! Good idea! There's plenty of room, just make yourself right at home," he said, motioning to the vacant chairs. His display of hospitality was interrupted with Maricruz's elbow in his side as she reminded him that they were the guests, not the hosts. "Oh! My fault, Miss Veronica, I don't know where my mind is tonight."

"Probably inside one of those empty bottles," she said, drawing laughs from him and Maricruz. "Where's Michael and Sara?"

"They're down on the beach." Maricruz pointed off to the side of the porch where the two of them were sitting in the sand, the water barely hitting their toes.

"Aw, how cute." She took a seat and sipped her beer, starting up a casual conversation.

Down on the beach was a nice breeze, picking up Sara's hair and blowing it around her face, which in turn was in Michael's face, but he didn't seem to mind. Her arms were in front of her, Michael's left arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. "You don't have to go back there," she whispered, fighting back the tears that threatened to come at the thought of him being taken away from her.

"Sara, I love you, but…I can't give you what you want."

"What I want?" She pushed herself away from him now, going into full-fledged defensive mode. "I want you, Michael. I want our kids, our family."

"That's the thing…Life on the run, like this, it isn't the environment to raise a family."

"We're in Panama, no one knows us here. We can be safe, we can have the perfect life, a life with everything I need."

Her defense had downgraded into desperate pleas and it tore him apart piece by piece. "I can't do it, Sara, not now, and I don't have the right to ask you to wait for me again." She held his gaze until she couldn't bear it anymore and crossed her arms over her knees, burying her head and fighting the sobs that came. Michael reached out and put his hand gingerly on her shoulder, but she kept shrugging it off for a bit until she finally allowed whatever comfort he was trying to offer and melted against him, knowing it was foolish of her to be mad at him. He was right, it wasn't the environment for a family, but the thought of losing him ate her alive. She was almost positive that he'd be killed if he went back to prison, and if not by the guards, by another inmate. She sat there and cried into his chest as he stroked her hair, rubbed her back, and cooed soothing words, his heart aching with every sob that escaped her throat. He didn't know how long they'd been out there, but she had finally cried herself out, every tear drop having fell onto his shirt. "Let's go to sleep." She pulled away from him and nodded, wiping her eyes and cheeks with the back of her hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. The porch was deserted, the house quiet, everyone must've went to sleep. They took extra caution moving through the house, not wanting to wake up Maricruz, the only one who might be woken by loud footsteps as she was the only sober one. Neither Michael nor Sara were drunk, but they were buzzed, and it felt good. Stripping down to the bare minimums and laying down sharing each other's body heat felt better, though.

The morning came way too early for anyone's liking except for Veronica, who had made it clear that everyone needed to be awake. She'd gathered everyone in the kitchen where fresh coffee was waiting, and anxiously watched everyone begin to wake up, until they were coherent enough to pay attention to her.

"The charges against Lincoln are being dropped!" An exchange of praise and cheers and excitement followed. "LJ, too. They're getting him released as we speak. Lincoln has to go to the Chicago police station and fill out some paperwork, they'll have LJ waiting there, and then they'll both be free!" More excitement and applause came, but behind Sara's happiness was fear and sadness. She knew that Michael would be turning himself in.

"V, can I talk to you for a minute?" He ushered her into the empty living room. "I know I shouldn't be asking you this, but do you think you could stay here, watch over Sara until she leaves, make sure Sucre stays out of trouble and everything?"

"Of course I can, Michael. I'll just have to get bossy and tell Lincoln that him and LJ are coming back here." She smiled, and it was contagious.

"Thank you." She nodded. "Lincoln can arrange Sara's flight back to Chicago when she leaves. Can you make sure she knows she welcome to come back whenever she wants? Let her know that all she has to do is call, and Lincoln will have her a plane ticket ready?"

"I will, Michael, I promise." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Aren't I always?"

She gave him that "Do you really want me to answer that?" kind of look, making them both laugh as they went back to the kitchen where the excitement still hadn't died down. For the first time in a long time, his arm around Veronica's waist, Lincoln seemed like he was truly happy, and in that moment, Michael knew it was all worth it.

"C'mon, Linc, let's go get packed, we need to make you a free man as soon as possible."

"You're damn right we do," he said, heading to the bedroom to pack his things into his bulging backpack. Michael did the same, but he stopped at the doorway and stared at the room, the smell of Sara mixed with his own scent, it's what he would smell all the time if they would've met under different circumstances. The thought that he would probably end up losing her to this tore him open on the inside, and he clenched the doorframe until his knuckles were white just to prevent himself from lashing out at a wall. He regained his composure and started packing up the little bit he'd unpacked and turned around to find Sara sitting quietly on the edge of the bed.

"I'll miss you, Michael." The bluntness and sincerity of her words killed him.

"I'll miss you, too." He placed a silent kiss on her forehead and grabbed his bag, heading for the door.

"Michael…" He stopped in his tracks and turned around. "I'll be waiting for you." As his heart ached more, it filled with happiness, knowing that she meant it. He smiled at her and left the house with Lincoln keeping in stride. She stayed on the bed, her hand caressing the blanket that had covered them less than an hour ago, knowing that it wouldn't happen again for a long time. She thought she was ready for another long cry for sure, but the tears never came. It confused her, but she was suddenly overcome with a feeling of assurance, and she now believed that Michael would be okay, that he'd come back to this house in Panama one day, and she'd be there waiting for him like she promised, ready to start their family.

"Knock knock." Her head jerked up and she saw Veronica, Sucre, and Maricruz standing in the room. "Need some company, sweetie?"

"I'm okay, Veronica, thanks. I think we should make some breakfast though."

"Three mamis cooking me breakfast? Now this is a life I could get used to." Maricruz playfully backhanded Sucre in the stomach and he doubled over in exaggeration.

"Next time I'll aim a little lower, Fernando." She gave him a kiss and brushed past him along with Sara and Veronica.

"Oh, so that's how you're gonna do your man?" He was eagerly following them down the hallway into the kitchen, harassing them the whole way.

"Shut up, go wait out on the porch."

"Yes ma'am," he said, feigning embarrassment as he trudged outside into the morning sun.

"He's quite a character, Maricruz."

"Hah, yeah he is, Veronica, it's what made me fall in love with him."

"I bet."

The four of them spent the majority of the morning outside, talking about anything that came up. Shortly after eleven, Veronica got a call from Lincoln, he and LJ were getting on a plane back to Panama. She asked about Michael, but one of their phones got real messed up and the call got disconnected.

"Just a word of advice, Sara. If you plan on sticking around with Michael, you're never gonna figure him out. I think he goes through extra trouble just to stay mysterious." Everyone laughed and Sara agreed.

"I've noticed." Her inwardly depressed feelings had been replaced with lightheartedness as soon as she told him that she'd be waiting. She accredited it to the fact that she'd finally made up her mind on the matter, even though her heart had made the decision long ago.

Lincoln and LJ barged through the house in the early evening, making all kinds of racket for the simple reason that they could, and everyone rose to give hugs and kisses and welcome back's.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all of that, LJ."

"Don't be sorry, V, it wasn't your fault. Being in there as the son of the guy that killed the Vice President's brother has its perks, all the guys were real nice, and I didn't even have to be anyone's girlfriend."

"You better not have been anyone's girlfriend, kid."

"Nah, I woulda knocked 'em, Dad, just like you taught me." Everyone glared at Lincoln before bursting into laughter, happy to see them there, together and free.

Sara quietly cleared her throat. "How'd things go with Michael?" Lincoln stared at her, then at LJ, their eyes sharing something much deeper than happiness.

"Guess who got ten years of probation!" He bellowed from inside the house.

"Michael!" She gushed, rushing to him and throwing herself into his arms.

"See? I told you the wait would go by quicker than you thought. Looks like we've all got a little room to breathe."


End file.
